All We Had
by Waylonpark
Summary: After deciding it would be best to just play along with Gluskin's delusion, Waylon and him soon need to escape from Mount Massive. Traveling with Gluskin, Waylon starts to know him better and they embark on an adventure. Where will they go? And … will Waylon still be the same after all of this? Gluskin x Waylon Note: Please excuse my mistakes – I'm not a native speaker :]
1. Darling

"Darling"

"When I entered the Vocational Block, I somehow knew that I've heard his name before, although I didn't remember where exactly. I heard a man called Dennis shouting something like 'a gift for the groom'. Still, I kinda think I know the name Gluskin …" Waylon Park scribbled on one of Dennis' files during the only two safe minutes he could spare until he heard Gluskin yelling: "DARLING! Don't leave me! I can't be alone!"

Perhaps it hadn't been the best idea to go for the elevator shaft and even less so, to trust this old, rusty ladder and therefore having to get that sharp splinter out of his leg. Holy crap, that fucking hurt. Whatever, this misogynist murderer was just one of many other crazy Variants Waylon had to escape from. … Right?

"You all want to leave me? Is that it? You want to leave me? Fine! Go! You and the rest of these ungrateful sluts!" Gluskin yelled and Waylon's heart leaped when he saw his shoes, walking around the bed he had hidden under. Then, when he thought the coast was clear, he crawled out of the bed and sneaked to the exit, trying to unlock the door when he suddenly got pulled away. Waylon's breath rattled in the back of his throat as he turned around, looking directly into the steel blue eyes of Eddie Gluskin. Shit, that man looked nasty.

"One more. I try and I try," he growled as he clenched his fist, "and you all betray me." He punched Waylon in the face and he heard something crack. Waylon tried to free himself out of Gluskin's grasp but he failed and Gluskin struck again. Feeling his lips bleed and his head throb, he tried to crawl away from the tall man, but after his last attempt failed as well, Waylon recognized that this battle was over. Neither giving up nor trying to fight back was an acceptable option since all of it resulted in Waylon's upcoming death.

After one last kick against Waylon's stomach, tall hands were dragging the blond all over the bloodstained, cold floor. Although Waylon desperately tried to move, to get up and run away, he couldn't do any of this for he was too weakened, too injured to defend himself. His leg felt like it was about to fall off, he could barely walk. What had he done? Why hadn't he listened to Dennis, telling him that he had delivered himself directly to "Gluskin's hell"? Why hadn't he listened more carefully when Blaire had been talking with other big fishes of Murkoff Cooperation? It was his ignorance that should mark his destiny.

Waylon finally managed to open his eyes, seeing Gluskin wrapping a rope round him. God, his head hurt like hell. He heard him breathing heavily, gnashing his teeth. Waylon knew where they were, he knew the giant room and the human corpses hanging from the ceiling. He had seen the gym before when he had tried to escape the groom. How little he had known back then – Waylon thought in a mixture of irony and bitter resignation, looking up to the hanging graveyard – not knowing he was soon to be one of them. He tried to scream, but no words left his hoarse throat and a harsh shiver went down Waylon's spine as he saw the groom directly in front of him.

"You don't deserve my children," Gluskin snarled, "you don't even deserve to live. You can hang like the rest of them." Suddenly, Waylon's body got put upright by Gluskin pulling the rope. The threads cut in the flesh of the man hanging from the ceiling, bursting into tears as he thought about his miserable life decisions.

Lisa, I hope I've been a good husband to you. I know it hasn't been a long time – 11 months –, but I think about you all the time. I'm here supporting men who create monsters. It's my fault, I guess. This is what you get for snooping. I'm afraid I'll die here, Lisa. The groom's fallen in love with me, and that is my certain death.

"Heavier than you look. If this is you on the honeymoon, I'd hate to imagine our anniversary."

Oh, please, shut up. Waylon rolled his eyes, starting to get annoyed by all of Gluskin's insults – this is just wasting my last minutes.

Waylon saw Gluskin fasten the ropes as he ran his fingers through his hair, fixing his haircut. What did he put into his hair to make sure it was in place? Actually, Waylon didn't want to know. In fact, only now did he realize how much effort Gluskin put into his look, how well his handmade suit fit. He looked up, frowning while glancing frustratedly at Waylon. It was over. Waylon knew it. He had been right when he had seen that neither giving up nor fighting back was an option. He should start to prepare for his death by suffocating.

But … something seemed odd. Why didn't Gluskin leave? Did he want to see him die or did he need to watch out? Did he really think Waylon would manage to get off the goddamn ceiling without hurting himself and without Gluskin noticing? There had to be something else.

"Darling, we could've been beautiful. Why don't you understand? You were the one and still, you made me do these thing to you. I just wanted to love you."

Suddenly, a brief thought flashed through Waylon's mind. Waylon looked into Gluskin's eyes, realizing that they were eager to receive an answer to his unspoken question. Because it was a subtle, unanswered question, the offer on letting him live … the only way out.

Lisa, you remember the time we were in school? I joined the drama group, right? Well, it's been some years but I think I will need these skills one more time. All of this I'm doing for you, and if the day has come where you're watching this video, please don't believe anything I say. Because if I manage to play along the game … this man is my only hope.

Waylon swallowed. "Please … hold on! I, uh, I'm sorry!" Gluskin, who was just about to go and leave Waylon to his own devices, stopped and turned around. He scrutinized him for a few seconds, unsure if Waylon was telling the truth, then his lips formed a broad grin.

"I know you'd sober up, darling. You're different, I knew it from the start," Gluskin said while carefully approaching Waylon, "and may I add that you've got a voice like an angel?" He giggled. "Now that you've finally decided to talk to me." Waylon was about to puke. This man was not only insane, he was apparently fucking savage, too.

"I don't know what's gotten into me being too afraid to trust you. Please, get me down and then we can perhaps … start over again?"

Gluskin didn't hesitate for long. "Of course, my dear." He untied the rope, letting Waylon carefully reach the ground. All of sudden, he was standing so close to the guy who tried to stab him, castrate him, suffocate him and let him be squashed by the elevator. It felt so wrong, enduring Gluskin's fingers brushing Waylon's arm. Such tender movements, nothing compared to how Gluskin had treated him for the last 13 hours.

"Let's go home, Darling." Gluskin went on ahead, leaving Waylon waddling after him. Being in a complete rush of adrenaline, Waylon hadn't felt the pain of his leg at all. But now that he was a bit safer than 5 minutes before, it was even more painful than before. What if they had to amputate it if Waylon's escape succeeded? Again, he felt like crying. Whatever – the only important thing right now was staying alive, and if Waylon would manage to go along with Gluskin's illusion, he could play for time. So far, that was his masterplan.

He quietly walked behind Gluskin, trying not to make a sound and not being able to see where he was going since Gluskin had confiscated his camcorder. He could hear him breath slowly; he didn't seem to be flustered at all.

"Here we are," Waylon took a deep breath as Gluskin proudly opened the door to the sewing room, "welcome to your new home, darling."

Despite all of his persuasion and words of endearment, Eddie at first hadn't coped with this girl (although he wasn't even sure if "girl" was the right term since she looked like a real woman every man could dream of and yet, she still owned the soft skin of a young lady). He had tried everything to get her. He had seen her aimlessly wandering around his house, with this thing in her hand in order to see in the dark (clever girl, by the way!), so he had thought a few words of consolations would have calmed her. But since "You don't have to be alone anymore." and "Let me fill you up." hadn't worked at all, he had needed to use more than words, and had decided to follow her.

The poor thing had gotten chased by the other Variants all the way through the asylum. Thinking about this made him furious. It must've been fate that he now can proudly call her his girl – after she had fled from Dennis, she had probably sensed Eddie waiting for her downstairs. As she had been walking down the stairs – she looked like an angel floating down –, Eddie had known that this time would be different. There was something about her that touched him in a certain way, although he wasn't completely able to determine that feeling. She was so beautiful, her sweet smile made him melt, and though she initially had behaved ungratefully like the other whores, she stood out of them pretty fast. A good woman was subordinated to her man and apologized for her mistakes, as she did. She'd be a perfect mother once she was corrected.

Right now, however, his darling hadn't said a word, even though Eddie had put some food on the table he had found in the kitchen: some water, apples and chocolate. He told her to drink something and eat an apple, and she obeyed.

"Good girl. You won't get over the ceremony with an empty stomach." She looked weakened and tired. She needed to rest her eyes a little, maybe she needed a day to recover. Even though Eddie was eager to fix her, he was, of course, patient.

Eddie wanted to get to know her, they had so many things to talk about, and there was so much Eddie didn't know about her. His darling's muteness made him angry. "Speak to me, will you! Don't you want to know me better?" he spat. The girl winced and Eddie felt sorry for frightening her.

"I beg your pardon, darling, maybe I'm just a little bit … nervous. It's, uhm, it's been a while since I've talked to a woman like you." She looked uncomfortable and Eddie started to get desperate. All of the others, the other whores, they always screamed at him and were so loud, and yet she didn't make a sound.

Suddenly, she glanced up and said, "Thank you for the food."

Eddie smiled, "You're welcome, darling. All I want is the best for you." Her voice, her hair, her green eyes, everything about her was perfect. Well, almost everything. Their children; god, they were going to be so beautiful.

"I'm Waylon," she said timidly, "and you're Eddie, right?" Eddie blushed as he realized he hadn't introduced himself to her and even worse: asked for her name. What a blunder! He nodded. Then they remained silent as Waylon - what a masculine name! – was eating his apple, looking on the bloodstained table, unsettling Eddie.

"You smell nice, darling. Which perfume are you wearing today?" Since Eddie was a gentleman, he knew what women liked to hear.

"Uhm," his darling said, fidgeting with her hands, "I don't know. Deodorant, I guess?" Eddie stared at her, astonished, not knowing what to say, when suddenly his lips formed a toothy grin, and he started to burst into laughter. And she was funny, too!

"You're so cute, darling," he said to his girl, looking confused. He stood up and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to her home, when she groaned. He turned around, seeing her holding her injured leg.

"I'm sorry, I forgot," he said, holding back his anger. "But this is what happens if you try to leave me," he laughed as he lifted her up smiling, "I'll carry you." She blushed as Eddie was walking down the corridor, carrying her like she was already his wife.

"I know, darling. You're a bit nervous because I'm holding you like that, but remember: We're not far off being man and wife. Let me fill the emptiness inside you. I can make you feel like a real woman." He knew how to read women and what to say to make them feel protected and safe … and other things.

"Darling, let me fill you up," he purred in her ear. Waylon swallowed, trying to avoid his gaze. Eddie chuckled; she was so innocent, so pure. Talking about loving each other made her blush. Not like the others who hadn't any self respect at all.

"Father Martin must've send me this angel," he said, opening the door of the sewing room with his elbow, "speaking of him … I think you already know him, don't you? I'll search for him after I got your medicine, and he will make us man and wife. How does that sound?"

"That, uh, that sounds really great," Waylon said quietly. – "Of course it does, darling," Eddie smiled. It felt so great, holding his love in his arms, such a delicate creature. Finally and still unbelievably, knowing he had needed to wait 46 years for this very moment. Soon, everything would be like he had always imagined. His lifelong dream, the wish of his parents. He was about to be married to a beautiful woman.

Shortly afterwards, they were standing in the dark, again. But that was okay, Eddie liked it that way, it made everything so much easier, besides sewing. Soon, his eyes adapted the darkness, but since he knew that Waylon initially needed to get used to it, he turned on a little lamp near Waylon's bed. He put her down and removed the imitation of the birth he had taken great pains to create. But he didn't need it any longer since he now had met the perfect woman, the one whom he could do this with. The blood of the head had seeped into the mattress and Eddie was sorry for that, but he knew Waylon was a tough girl.

"I've been a little … vulgar, I know," Eddie said, sensing the pounding of his heart, "and I want to say, I'm sorry. I just … you know how a man gets when he wants to know a woman. But after the ceremony, when I've made an honest woman of you, I promise I'll be a different man." Waylon nodded timidly. Eddie knew she would understand. Such a precious thing.

He pointed at the bed the other whore had been laying on, and after he had covered the blood with a blanket he had found, he said, "Lay down and get some rest, darling. I know it's not pure extravagance, but it will do. At this very moment, love's the only thing we need, and I'm sure you can manage to make it as cosy as possible. Because a woman's work is …" – "Never done," Waylon said, unimpressed, "I know, I've read it on your wall." Eddie laughed; that was his girl, not that easy to fool.

"Now I'm going to get some medicine. It won't be long, so you can take some anesthetic after I've came back and perhaps you'll be able to snatch a couple of hours' sleep before we get married, alright darling?"

"Uh, we're about to marry today …?" she asked surprisedly. – "Of course, darling. Is that a problem? I know you're as eager as I am to consummate our love." Waylon averted his gaze. "Yeah," she muttered, "I am."

Eddie stepped aside, watching her laying down. Her skin looked like porcelain and her hair looked like melted gold next to the dim lamp. What a shame they had cut it off, but his darling always looked good. His gaze wandered over her body, lasciviously laying on the bed, and Eddie had to restrain himself not to jump on the bed and rip her clothes off. But they weren't done. There were still a lot of things left to do, and at the end of the day, Waylon wasn't a real woman. Not yet, but Eddie had a good feeling about it. She was strong and robust yet a petite, delicate woman. She could run and seemed like Eddie's equal and he didn't know how to feel about this yet. Right at this moment, the only thing he could do was stroking her thigh as he was passing by; she shivered and he held back a smile.

Oh, how he loved the thought of touching her. They'd be a perfect couple with a perfect family and perfect children. Eddie had been here for many years and it was today that a woman had touched his heart.


	2. Two Men Standing in the Dark

Two Men Standing in the Dark

After Eddie had closed the door (it was the very door Waylon had seen him pressing his face against after his, well, transformation), Waylon waited a few seconds and made sure that Eddie was definitely gone. A few moments he could still hear him whistling his favorite song, the one with the girl "just like way that married dear old dad" and eventually, it was quiet. At this point, it overcame Waylon and he collapsed in tears, trying hard not to make a sound as he gasped, struggling for breath. Tears fell down and dyed the bloodstained sheets bordeaux red. That was too much for Waylon and in a fit of disgust, he jumped off the bed, ran through the sewing room and vomited right onto a pile of intestines. The stench of blood and dead flesh reached Waylon's nostrils and he threw up again before he slumped to the ground, crying and shaking at the same time, holding his knees like a child.

Lisa, holy shit, what have I done? If I won't come up with some un-fucking-believably great ideas, this sick fucker will castrate me, do you understand? Of course not, you're at home, thinking I'm working on the same shit as always. I'm sorry, baby, but I'm not, I just got a declaration of love from a fucking groom and some hours before, Blaire made me watch half of the Morphogenetic Engine. I saw the Walrider, Lisa. I saw it, with my own eyes, and you know what I've also seen? Corpses, fucking mutilated corpses everywhere. There was a man who got lanced right in front of me by the man who claims to love me and who wants to make me an honest woman. Lisa … I don't know what to do. Why aren't you here? You'd get us out of here. I swear, pretending is fucking hard, and the next time I have to look into these red eyes and this disfigured face, I think I'm gonna throw up again.

Waylon got up; he needed to walk, he needed to think. He was programmer, he got called for fixing problems. He knew shit and he would find a way out of here. The only important thing now was to be in his right mind and to remain cool. So, these were the facts: Gluskin thought Waylon was a woman, and he was in love with him. Unfortunately, this wouldn't stop him from injuring Waylon. The only positive outcome was having some extra time to plan the next step, but that meant all he could do was playing along. Gluskin insisted on marrying Waylon which would eventually end up with a kiss Waylon mustn't refuse. Waylon cringed thinking about kissing this man, touching these damaged lips with his, feeling his rash under his fingers.

Maybe Dennis would've been the better alternative. Perhaps one of his personalities would've felt compassion for Waylon. A chuckle escaped Waylon's despair, then he sighed.

He didn't know what time it was nor if it was day or night, since the sewing room seemed to be permanently dark. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, something appeared in his field of view. It seemed like the images of the Morphogenetic Engine, some mysterious contours looking like the Rorschach test, had settled in Waylon's mind, proofing that Waylon started getting insane as well. He had been lucky; Hopes breaking out was the reason Waylon had been able to escape without having watched all of the Morphogenetic Engine. But Hopes was also the reason for Waylon now being stuck in Gluskin's hell.

Why did Waylon work for Murkoff in the first place? He sighed again – actually, he knew it. It was the money. Although he graduated cum laude from Berkley, he hadn't been able to find a job as a software engineer. But then the Murkoff Cooperation appeared, Lisa got pregnant and they needed the money. Because Murkoff paid quite nicely and they had claimed that they'd be working on something big, and you'd do science a service if you'd work for them. How could someone be so stupid and blind as Waylon had been? Working for Murkoff was hell. Andrew, one of his supervisors, was the most disgusting man he had ever met. When Waylon had started working for Murkoff, he had been "Gaylon" for the first 3 months or so, because his eyelashes were quite long an thick, making him appear more feminine than the others. Well, he wasn't happy about it either, but this name made it so much worse.

Yikes, his hands were steeped in blood, it felt like glue. He didn't want to know how many people this blood belonged to. Waylon put on his camcorder, searching for something liquid to wash it off (maybe he even managed to get a shower – without Gluskin, of course), when he suddenly stumbled across a file laying on the ground. It was dirty and torn but Waylon could still read a few parts. "Eddie T. Gluskin" was written on the top, and Waylon was again sensing an irrepressible suspicion that he knew this name from somewhere. Therapy status, diagnostics, nothing interesting, "the rashes associated with the hormone therapy" – so he had been used for the Project Walrider as well? It was in this very moment when a little photo grabbed Waylon's attention, showing Eddie Gluskin without the rash, and Waylon felt like vomiting again: The man pressing his body against the glass in the Underground Lab … had been Eddie Gluskin! The man begging Waylon to stop this, to help him, the man screaming they'd rape him in these "fucking machines".

Waylon couldn't believe it, dropping the file as he gasped, feeling his back sweating with shame. He had let him down, hadn't even thought about what he had been trough. Waylon hadn't even watched half of the Morphogenetic Engine and he'd never forget the stabbing pain his head he had felt. Waylon was shocked; Gluskin must've hated him. What if Gluskin was only pretending and actually planning on slowly murdering Waylon during the ceremony?

Shit. Waylon needed to get the fuck out of here, but before starting to think about a new, better, plan, he heard a passionate "Darling!" and footsteps. Gluskin, standing in the dim light, holding some medicine in the right hand, pulled a face as he saw his file laying in front of Waylon.

"What's this you're reading? Where did you get that? … Lies, it's all lies!" he shouted as he picked up the file, tearing hit into peaces and hurling it through the room. Waylon flinched, expecting Gluskin to hit him.

"They're saying things about me even though they know that they're wrong! I can hear it! I can hear the– My father was great man, he … he," Eddie was struggling for words, "he would never … Look, he warned me about a lot of women being whores and sluts, but not you, you're … you're different. Right? You love me honestly." He took a few steps forwards Waylon who swallowed, awaiting the worst, as Gluskin suddenly spread out his arms and hugged him.

Then, silence. Two men standing in the dark, holding each other tight. Waylon could feel Gluskin's warm breath on his neck. "I love you," Gluskin said as he buried his fingers in Waylon's hair, "promise that you won't ever leave me. We'll have a perfect family and you'll bear us two wonderful children. I'll never leave your side."

"I promise," Waylon said mechanically with a mouth as dry as dust; his body froze thinking of what would happen next.

"Alright," Gluskin said as his hands went down to Waylon's jaw, holding it and gently pulling it to his mouth as he leaned in for a kiss. Feeling Gluskin's mouth touching his made Waylon's hair stand on end. Gluskin clasped his back and pulled the blond towards him, pressing his lips on Waylon's. The kiss was warm and wet, and Waylon counted the seconds, hoping this would be over soon. Gluskin giggled as he carefully bit Waylon's lips, scaring the wits out of him.

Finally, Waylon managed to push Gluskin's giant chest away. "We … we shouldn't do this," he stuttered while Gluskin was playing with his hair, "we're not married yet." The tall man laughed. "This is why I love you so much," he said and leaned in for another kiss when suddenly, a voice interrupted him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you two were … busy." This couldn't get more embarrassing. Please, somebody shoot Waylon.

Only now did Waylon realize that the voice of this man sounded familiar. He had already spoken to him, some voice in him told him. Waylon was about to be proven right.

"Didn't I ask you to wait a minute so I could get the bandage? One moment of not paying attention and I hear you enthusiastically running down the corridor, like a little boy again." The husky voice laughed out and Waylon knew who was standing in front of them: "Just kidding, here it is, buddy." The withered, bony man entered the light and arranged his strange looking monocles as their eyes meet.

Of course he had fucking giant shears. Why not? Waylon wasn't surprised about anything anymore.

He swallowed. If that wasn't Richard fucking Trager. The employee gone crazy, thinking he was a doctor, Blaire's former friend he had used to play golf with. Waylon remembered; Blaire had betrayed him and had made him watch the Morphogenetic Engine since his dreams seemed promising, making him insane, just like Eddie Gluskin. But unfortunately, all of this was made possible because of Waylon Park, software engineer of Murkoff, being the one who had helped using the engine and all of this shit. Waylon wouldn't have been surprised if Trager wanted to see him dead, too.

"There she is, Mr. Gluskin's new flame," he said behind his surgical mask, showing a bit of his crooked smile. Damn, that man looked nasty, Waylon thought as his thin arm reached over to Gluskin, giving him the bandage.

"Thank you very much for bringing us this, Dr. Trager," Gluskin smiled.

"No problem, buddy. Nowadays, nobody likes to do somebody a favor. They all want to make money, preferably fast. God died with the gold standard and money becomes a matter of faith. You have to rob Paul to pay Peter, there's no other way."

Gluskin nodded politely. What the fuck was this fool babbling about?

"I'm afraid I don't have much time since I got a new patient already, that little shit's priest guy. But I know where he plans to go, so I'm just gonna wait for him near the dumb waiter, I guess."

"Speaking of Father Martin," Gluskin said and Waylon blushed as he put his arm around the blond, "do you know where I can find him?" – "I guess he's somewhere near the Prison Block, at least this is where I've seen him about half an hour ago. I think he's searching for his witness of whatever."

"Look, darling," Gluskin said excitedly as he grabbed Waylon by his shoulders, "I'll go out an find Father Martin so he can make us man and wife. After that, when you're feeling better, I'll make a few cuts and we can finally …" Gluskin stopped and gave Waylon an embarrassed smile, knowing that he didn't have to continue talking. Waylon, forcing a smile, heard Trager chuckling.

"So, always the same tune, huh?" he asked, waving his shears. Apparently, this was the usual procedure of Gluskin falling in love with some stranger. Waylon caught himself being kind of disappointed since Gluskin had claimed that Waylon was the right one, the one he wanted to marry. Waylon was shocked – is that where it was gotten to?

"Not at all – this time, everything's different. See, I've finally found the right woman. The love of my life. But you're not wrong. First of all, I need to fix her and make an honest woman of her. Then we can start a family. Am I right, darling?" He looked down on Waylon, smiling gently, and kissed him on his head. Waylon nodded shyly, giving Trager a frightened look.

"So, let me get this straight," Trager said, frowning, "you want to fix her. Perfectly understandable. But don't you think that, since this is a serious matter, it would be best to entrust me with this operation? I'm experienced and we don't want her to die like the others, do we? I'm just asking because, well … don't get me wrong, but you always say things like that and shortly after everybody can hear you yelling though the entire Vocational Block. Sometimes I can't sleep because of you shouting and running all the time, buddy."

In a fit of anger, Gluskin pulled out his knife and Trager flinched. "Thank you for your kind offer, but I preferably do it myself," Gluskin snarled, "these women didn't die by my hand. It's not my fault; they have given up on love. And just so you know, I've done this about thousand times thus it must work out at some point."

Gluskin, are you fucking serious?

Waylon raised his head, seeing him and Trager exchanging glances and for one second he thought about trying to turn them against each other, but then again, Trager was too clever for that shit, he would have figured it out quite fast.

"Well," Trager said cheerfully, "do as you like. I'm truly happy for you guys and don't forget to invite me to your wedding. Now, if you'll excuse me, I don't want my patient to be squashed by Walker so I'm gonna go." – "Of course we'll invite you, thank you for everything," Gluskin said, holding Waylon tight as they watched Trager walk off.

"We won't," Gluskin said grimly. – "Definitely not," Waylon heard himself say.

Gluskin wanted to see Waylon's injured leg for dressing his wound. "Darling, come on, it's just a scratch," he said as he wrapped the bandage around Waylon's leg. A scratch? Seriously? The whole leg was red and blue, burning like hell. "Yeah, but it's not very pleasant either so could you perhaps be a bit more … gentle?" Waylon held his breath as Eddie tied a knot.

"There you go. I'm sorry darling, I didn't mean to hurt you. I know the fairer sex often endures the same wounds with more suffering, but you really need to make an effort. Just think about the birth of our two sons. Gritting your teeth wouldn't kill you." You must be shitting me.

"Now drink this and get some sleep, darling."

Waylon drank the medicine, a tiny brown bottle. It tasted bitter, burning in his stomach, and Waylon grimaced with disgust, making Gluskin laugh. This was worse than any schnapps Waylon had tried so far, so it better helped. Waylon started to get tired very quickly and soon he was laying on the same bed again. The smell of blood eventually dissipated and Waylon noticed that he slowly wasn't able to think straight anymore. The sounds mixed and his movements became ponderous. Gluskin was right; he really needed sleep. Suddenly, he got lifted up again.

"I'm sorry, darling, but I need you to do one more thing. I'm currently working on your wedding dress but I need your measurements." Waylon remembered when the tailor needed Lisa's measurements as well. Who'd had guessed that one year later Waylon got the chance wear that dress himself? Who needed a bride if you can be the bride?

Gluskin continued talking while searching for the measuring tape. "This is the first time I'm actually doing this. I've always waited for a girl just like the one that married dear old– well, I mean, a girl like you. And I need you to know that … I'm a bit nervous, and you must be, too. Finally, after all these years, I can tailor a dress for my beautiful wife, and it will be the greatest dress I've ever made. Only for my love. And there's no need to hurry, quite unusual for someone like me. I guess, since I'm no spring chicken anymore, I've always been in a rush."

Moments like this gave Waylon a bit of hope, a few seconds where Gluskin seemed as sane as Waylon, and this little speech could've been kind of cute if Waylon hadn't known that … well.

Gluskin kneeled down in front of Waylon and started measuring his hips, kissing Waylon's stomach and mumbled, "A soft place to welcome my seed." Waylon couldn't help but swallow uncomfortably. After he had measured his waist and, besides a lot of other things, his breast, telling Waylon not to worry since "they'll grow during pregnancy", he measured his neck, too.

"You want a necklace, I suppose?" – "I … I guess so." Waylon blushed as he felt Gluskin's warm fingers on his skin. He was so close yet so concentrated. "Alright," he said as he dropped the measuring tape, then he lifted his hands and gently stroke Waylon's cheek as he noticed Waylon's rapid breathing.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered, carefully opening Waylon's mouth with his thumb. The next kiss was different; it wasn't as wet and harsh as the other one. Instead, Gluskin kissed Waylon like his lips were something frail, something precious. Waylon couldn't tell why it felt kind of good, probably because the medicine had made him tired as hell, but when Gluskin chuckled and said "You're supposed to kiss me back, darling." he did what the groom wanted. Being half asleep, Waylon slowly noticed Gluskin's tongue grazing his shaking lips, but he was too tired to complain.

Gluskin removed his lips from Waylon's. He laughingly said, "You're tired, I see. Now go get some sleep. It's been a long day." This time, Waylon was happy to obey.

"I've seen his jealous face … Dr. Trager's face, I mean," Gluskin said proudly as he sat down next to Waylon, covering him with a blanket that actually looked kind of clean. Waylon nodded tiredly.

"Thanks for showing up in my life," Gluskin said as he kissed the blond on his forehead, and before hearing Gluskin searching for the right cloth, Waylon had already fallen asleep.


	3. A Petticoat Made of Tulle

A Petticoat Made of Tulle

There she was. As beautiful as always. Wind was blowing through her dark brown hair, then she formed a sweet smile. She wore Waylon's and her favorite dress, the little black one with bow; her earrings sparkling behind her curls. Elizabeth Park, probably the most beautiful woman on earth. Besides Waylon of course. God, at this moment, there was nothing Waylon wanted to do more than getting back his manliness, loving her passionately, being the man. She was standing in a corridor, probably in the Administration Block, bright light was shining behind her. She made a quick head movement, followed by the words: "Come on, it's time to leave."

"Yes!" Waylon said as he was about to run to her when he suddenly wasn't able to move anymore.

"Whats wrong?" Lisa asked, observing Waylon desperately trying to move.

Suddenly, Gluskin appeared. "I'm sorry, lady," he said, passing Lisa, and suddenly he lifted Waylon up, throwing him over his shoulders. "Waylon! Waylon come back to me!" – "Lisa," he whispered as he was suddenly to weakened to scream, "Lisa, wait for me. I'll come back, I promise!" He felt Gluskin rhythmically stamping, and still he was surprised since Gluskin didn't walk that clumsy. Suddenly, he felt a throbbing pain in his head, and he opened his eyes.

"Be careful, god dammit, he'll wake up," he heard a voice say – followed by three echos. Waylon could barely think. Everything around him was still blurred, vague outlines everywhere. Then, he slowly came to his senses. He was apparently hanging on the back of someone, his face was covered in blood, at least this is what it smelled like. Then, he could start to see better, noticing that they were in the sewing room. Was that Gluskin's shoulders he was laying on? That couldn't be – Gluskin was tall and muscular but never ever as fat as this guy carrying Waylon. They were walking across the room and all of sudden, he could see Gluskin, sleeping like a baby and laying next to the sewing machine, on huge pile of white cloth. It was Waylon's dress, he must've been fallen asleep with exhaustion. That somehow touched Waylon's heart even though he kind of wished Gluskin was awake – why did he sleep now, god damn it?!

Finally, the last part of Waylon was awake, too, and he realized what's been happening here. He was on the shoulders of Walker who was carrying him out of the room. He wanted to scream but no words left his mouth – it was covered in fucking duct-tape! He wanted to get out off Walker's grip but wriggling was the only thing he could do since his arms and legs were tied up. His blood run cold – who was the other person and what did they want to do with Waylon?

"You hear that? Our bride's awake," a voice said, followed by laughter. "Little pig," Waylon heard Walker say. Who's the pig you fat bastard?

After descending some stairs they finally arrived, standing in a giant room. Waylon already had a premonition of what would happen next. This was the cinema and Waylon was about to finish the last film he'd probably watch. The Morphogenetic Engine.

Despite screaming and trying to make it as hard as possible to make Waylon watch this shit, Walker quite easily managed to tie Waylon to a chair in the middle of the huge screen, sitting closer than any other seat.

He heard a familiar voice behind his back, saying things such as "I wouldn't have missed it", "such a pure soul", "interesting to see what happens when", "he's one of them", "Gluskin may be strong but he's dumb and predictable", "watch out for his knife", "that's what I'm hear for … to make him believe. Right, buddy?"

The realization flashed into Waylon's mind and before thinking his name, he saw Rick Trager looking in his eyes, standing in front of the white screen. "Finally, you're awake," he laughed as he pulled out his shears, "the anesthetic wasn't as strong as I thought it would be. Well, my bad."

All of sudden, he took a swing and stroke with his shears. Waylon screamed noiselessly as he felt a sharp pain penetrating his head. Shortly after, a drop of blood ran over his cheek. He screamed, but again, no words left the tape.

"I don't understand you, buddy, would you mind to speak clearly? You got something to say? Go ahead, don't be shy. Oh, I see, you can't – your mouth is covered! Silly me," Trager pulled off the tape (and a lot of thin hair and skin, too), "anyway, what were you about to say?"

"EDDIE!" Waylon screamed in panic, not noticing that he called him by his first name. "Eddie, can you hear me!? Eddie, I'm here!"

"Okay, that's enough, buddy," Trager said, annoyed, as he covered his mouth again, "I thought you'd come up with something better than crying for your darling. Such a crybaby. You have always been."

Trager's voice had changed and Waylon was afraid he would have recognized him, and apparently this fear wasn't unfounded. "In that case, let me get things straight. You know what this is? Right, this is what you fuckers call the Morphogenetic Engine. Watching this hurts like shit and makes you go nuts. After that, they put you in a fucking giant snow globe and find out if you're able to control the Walrider. Wait, why am I telling you this? Haven't you guys already done the same to me? Why, why. How can I be that forgetful?"

Trager silenced, looking directly into Waylon's eyes. "Waylon Park, 31 years old, software engineer, married, two sons … soon. The man who fucking ruined my life besides many others. And now you're sitting here, crying for your groom, the one who begged you to stop this, to help him. Well, someone's been telling stories outside of class. See, this is what makes me sick. I want you to be consequent, because if there's one thing I cannot god damned stand, it's a quitter. So I'll do you a favor and make you watch the whole Morphogenetic Engine. So you can be as insane as your soon-to-be husband."

Suddenly, the screen got lightened up and the black shapes appeared, changing within seconds, grotesque, barely perceptible images popping up and disappearing again. Waylon tried to squint his eyes but Trager kept them opened.

"You wanted to talk to me. How can I – Oh Lord, have mercy! Son, what are you doing!?" a voice suddenly screamed out of nothing. Trager looked up to the ledge.

"Kind of busy here," Trager hissed, "also: that's none of your fucking business, Father Martin." He was talking about Martin Archimbaud, the crazy, religious finger painter! He was standing on the ledge, looking down on Waylon. He could help him! Waylon knew that he was as insane as the other Variants but he had thought about him: A lot of Variants seemed to follow him and see him as a priest or whatever. The details weren't important – the only important thing was him being able to help Waylon. Gluskin wanted to talk to him about marrying Waylon, but if Waylon told him that Gluskin was a murderer and didn't believe in the Lord the Walrider (or whatever) maybe he could help him get out. He knew it!

"No, no, no! Stop this now! I need him, in the name of our Lord, he needs to stay unbiased for being my second apostle! Don't let him watch that! Hold on, son, I'll get you help!" Suddenly, he ran away.

"He's going for Gluskin," Trager laughed, "but this won't change a thing." Then his hands grabbed Waylon's face again, opening his eyes. "Oh, I see, you're close to suffocation. Well, I'm giving you a pass, buddy," Trager said as he removed the tape from Waylon's mouth. He coughed, starting to lose his strength to resist. Why didn't Trager care about Gluskin rescuing him? Again, Gluskin was so much stronger than him thus not to be underestimated. Waylon started to struggle thinking straight and these strange contours looking like the Rorschach test appeared again. Waylon eventually got tired and exhausted, only peripherally noticing the fast change of light, of shapes, and of images. And then there was this humming that got worse and worse, and these people kept whispering things in his ear he couldn't understand. But still, he tried to think: Something seemed odd. They knew that Gluskin was strong and Trager even warned Walker about his knife he needed to keep an eye on. Speaking of him, where had his fat ass hidden? Waylon couldn't believe that Trager was this stupid – being alone in an empty room with Eddie Gluskin. God, Waylon had been through this shit and it wasn't very recommendable. What hat Trager intended as he had called for Father Martin? Why had he appeared? To see this?

In this moment, Waylon had understood. "Darling, where are you?" Gluskin yelled and was about to enter the room as Waylon screamed: "Eddie, stay where you are, it's a trap!" Suddenly, Walker attacked Gluskin, dragging him on the ground.

"No! Eddie!" Waylon screamed, frightened of losing his only chance to survive, and yet dazzled by the glaring explosion of the huge shapes and forms, irritated by all of the people whispering into his hear, the humming getting worse and worse, penetrating his body, when all off sudden a giant cloud of smoke and black dust appeared, in the middle of it a dark skeleton. Could it be …?

"Holy shit! He's there, he's in this room!" Trager yelled and dropped Waylon's head and his shears. "Well, good luck surviving, buddy!" Then he ran away, stumbling over Gluskin and Walker fighting.

"Eddie!" Waylon screamed but Gluskin didn't react. After Walker had hit him hard in the face, Gluskin took a swing and stabbed his knife int his fat; Walker shrieked with pain as Gluskin jumped on his giant body, striking him and ramming his knife through his throat multiple times.

"Nobody! Touches! My! Darling!" Gluskin yelled.

"EDDIE! He's dead and we really don't have time for this now, theres, like, the fucking Walrider right in front of us!" The humming got louder as he was slowly approaching the two men, one of them desperately trying to untie the other one with a knife. "Hurry up! He's coming!" Waylon screamed before he saw that Gluskin was injured as well.

It got dark and the shadow began flying towards them; it was too late. "You won't take her away from me!" Gluskin yelled and protected Waylon with his body, before the Walrider arrived and everything went black.

Faces, so many faces. They popped up and disappeared again, like sand being blown away. Lisa, Rick Trager, Chris Walker, Jeremy Blaire … Eddie Gluskin. Waylon had so many questions. Where was he? Was he still alive? Where was Gluskin? What had happened when the Walrider had flown towards him?

Slowly, Waylon opened his eyes. Finally – the morning had arrived. What a terrible, terrible night. The daylight softly shone through the broken windows, filling the sewing room and taking away its mystery. Waylon could see one of Gluskin's kitschy quotation although he couldn't read it since his vision was still blurry. Speaking of him: Where was Gluskin? Still regaining consciousness, only now did Waylon hear someone breathing deeply behind his back, instantly getting goosebumps. He was laying in Gluskin's arms, spooning with him like a couple, laying on a dirty mattress. His chin touched Gluskin's strong arm, feeling his wiry hair. It smelled of smoke and a little bit of like iron.

Gluskin's body was warm. Sometimes his muscles twitched. He was so silent, so calm. Waylon noticed that his leg didn't hurt that much anymore, which he was very happy about, and in a fit tenderness his fingers grazed Gluskin's gloves, surprised about himself. He started to get used to his new life as Gluskin's wife. Waylon laughed on the inside – not really. But things weren't as awkward as they used to be. He was flattered that Gluskin had fallen in love with him and apparently, his plan of surviving worked out.

He had saved him.

Waylon's gaze went down to his dress and he smiled as he saw how much effort Gluskin had put into making this. … Wait. Waylon got a shock noticing that Gluskin had put him in an actual wedding dress! He sighed; he was a straight, married man in a gown – what more could he want? The dress was actually very pretty, it reminded him of Lisa's dress back then. It wasn't as dirty as Waylon had thought it would be. A small necklace made of pearls (where had Gluskin found them?) graced his collarbone, framed by two narrow straps. The dress was tight on top and loose at the bottom; puffed by a petticoat made of tulle. A few ornaments made of diamanté rounded it off. Well … it was actually quite cute and it could really keep up with the dresses you could buy in a store.

He blushed as he realized that Gluskin had needed to take his clothes off in order to dress him up, but then again, he remembered that this wasn't the fist time he had seen him naked. He shivered, waking up the tall man behind him.

"Darling," Waylon heard him say sleepy yet excited as Waylon turned around, "you're finally awake! I've been worried sick about you. I'm awfully sorry for not taking care of you. I've failed as a husband and I just wanted to say … please forgive me, if you can. I promise it won't happen again."

Waylon smiled. What choice do I have? "It's okay, Glus– Eddie. You were busy making my dress," Waylon said quietly and Gluskin gave a sight of relief. "Do you like it? You look stunning, darling!"

"Yes I do. Really, it's … incredible. Where did you get these cloths from?" Gluskin smiled gently. "I collected them over the years, waiting for the right one who deserves them made into a dress." Then again, silence. Light-blue eyes looked into green eyes, a big hand grabbed a smaller hand, one man leaned over the other one, one mouth kissed the other mouth.

Lisa.

Slowly, Waylon's hand went to Gluskin's head, running his fingers through his hair. It was soft and smooth. Who'd have thought it? Waylon's heart beat faster as he felt Gluskin's hand under his dress, caressing his thighs. But this time, and Waylon really couldn't tell why, it felt sort of … good.

"Darling," Gluskin moaned and Waylon shivered as he felt his masculinity between his legs, "you're so sexy. I've never felt anything like this before. God, if you knew what I'd like to do to you right now. But … as you said, we're not married yet." So far, that fact had saved Waylon's ass.

Lisa, I love you more than anything.

He laughed exhaustedly: "But this body, fixed or not, and this face … this is hard for me to resist, darling." Gluskin kissed him again as he grabbed Waylon's hips, pressing them against his crotch. Waylon swallowed, sweating nervously. Why didn't he resist? He hadn't seen Lisa in a month. Was he really that needy?

"Soon," Gluskin whispered in Waylon's ear, "soon we can do whatever we want, love each other every second of the night." His fingers left Waylon's hips and he cradled Waylon's head in his hands, giving him a tired, aroused smile.

"Words can't describe how beautiful you are, my love," Gluskin whispered and Waylon felt Gluskin's chapped lips caressing his forehead, his eyebrow, his nose, his chin and his lips.

I really do, but I have to play along if I want to survive.


	4. Forget-Me-Not

Forget-me-not

"No he did not," Waylon said mechanically. – "I'm sorry, darling, but I'm afraid he did."

Waylon slumped as he buried his head in his hands. This couldn't be. Waylon could've sworn that things like this only happened to him.

"So he crucified himself for the sake of the Walrider." – "Yes."

Waylon felt like crying. Father Martin had been the only one left who could've managed to get him out of here. The only chance to survive besides Gluskin. Now, this fool had decided to sacrifice himself to the Walrider – not even a god, but a fucking swarm of nanomachines. Could this get any worse?

"You must be as dismayed as I am to find out that our preacher has passed away and isn't able to make us man and wife anymore. I heard it one hour ago. May god rest his soul." – "Yes I am," Waylon replied as tears flooded his eyes. Shortly after, he felt the tall man wrapping his arms around him. "I know you were excited about it and so was I, but we need to stay positive. He's not the only preacher and we'll find another one."

Gluskin's expression changed. "But that's not why I put you in this dress. Apart from the fact that I thought we'd already be married around noon, I've decided to leave this place."

"To do what?" Waylon widened his eyes in surprise. Did that really just happen? Did Gluskin really suggest to leave that hell of an asylum?

"Well, darling," Gluskin said as he walked into the painting room, heading for a giant shelf, taking off a huge case and throwing out the brushes, "since that filthy prick wanted you to watch half of the Morphogenetic Engine and Dr. Trager … don't trust anyone with an ingrowing monocle. Still alive, lying in wait for you, wanting to harm you. What I want to say is … it's not safe for you anymore."

Waylon sighed. You don't say? It has never been, genius.

Waylon watched Gluskin packing the "bag", noticing him putting in the strangest things. Some apples, needle and thread, a measuring tape, a machete and a blade. He was right, Waylon thought apathetically, these were the few important things you basically needed all the time. If some policemen randomly took a quick check of the totally inconspicuous looking couple consisting of a groom with red blisters, skin peelings and bloodshot eyes and his bride (a man), they would … well, actually, Waylon had the feeling that the policemen would't be surprised at all. Whatever, one thing was clear: If Waylon somehow managed to anger Gluskin by mistake, he would be dead before he could've said "Darling". Even though Waylon had had some moments of weakness maybe kissing Gluskin back, perhaps grabbing his hair and stroking it, it didn't mean that he was safe. One never knew when Gluskin would hit the ceiling again.

"I was thinking about your … correction," Gluskin suddenly said, walking towards Waylon, "and I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you again." – "What's the matter?" Waylon asked. If Gluskin thought that his news would disappoint Waylon, then he was pretty sure they'd do the opposite.

"I've thought about places to go and came to the conclusion that it would be best if we would hide you far away from here. Though I barely remember anything except for mother's cooking skills and father playing football with me as a child, I still remember … the address of my old home in Nebraska."

"Nebraska," Waylon repeated monotonously, "that's about 8 hours by car." – "I know that seems a lot, darling, but … it's been 30 years." His eyes glazed over and Waylon understood. Waylon's safety wasn't the only reason they were leaving the asylum – Gluskin wanted to find out more about his past. He seemed to suffer from some sort of amnesia concerning the years before entering Mount Massive. Part of Waylon could understand him, but … come on, he was perfectly able to do that without Waylon's help. Holy shit – 8 fucking hours, over 500 miles. He would never see Lisa again. He had seen SWAT teams, they were dead, but maybe there was a gun laying next to one of them he could shoot Gluskin with. But then again, Waylon had never shot anybody so the chances were good that he would hurt himself shooting him, resulting in Gluskin killing Waylon. He sighed; when did that horror finally end?

"Sure, sounds good," Waylon said, having a lump in his throat. Gluskin smiled. "Beautiful times are awaiting us, Lynn."

Silence. "Lynn?" Waylon asked confusedly.

"Yeah," Gluskin shrugged his shoulders, "I thought it sounds a bit more feminine than Waylon. It's a cute pet name, don't you think, darling?" Waylon … Lynn. He wasn't wrong, but this didn't work out smoothly at all. But knowing Gluskin and knowing his ability to stubbornly pretend that something was working out, Waylon was afraid that Gluskin was absolutely convinced that he had found the perfect name for his darling.

"So it is," Lynn sighed.

"It's safe," Gluskin said after he had went in ahead, checking the corridor of the Vocational Block for Variants. Waylon – still in his wedding dress – followed with shaking knees. Walking behind the tall man, holding a machete in his right hand, felt a bit safer than walking on his own, though he kinda preferred Gluskin not being there at all. Waylon saw that there hadn't been much Variants left, laying on the ground with their intestines falling out, beheaded or even cut in a half. Sometimes, the cuts were too exact to be done by some of the Variants. The Walrider must've been in the asylum, hiding somewhere. Billy Hope, waiting for revenge. Waylon swallowed. A swarm of nanomachines running amok in the asylum. Things shouldn't have gotten this far.

It was a strange feeling running after Gluskin when him doing this two days ago would've been Waylon's certain death. But now, getting attacked by an insane former patient of Mount Massive wasn't such a big deal anymore, since Gluskin luckily had taken control of the situation, stabbing everyone who was in his face … without turning a hair. Waylon couldn't tell if he was impressed or deeply terrified. Probably both.

While running through the Administration Block, Waylon suddenly saw a great, light fire, devouring the chapel, making him slow down next to the broken window. It was getting bigger and bigger. Holy shit – they really needed to get the fuck out of here.

"Darling, what are you doing!" Gluskin grabbed his hand, dragging him from the window. Then they ran again. Waylon needed to lift his dress in order not to stumble, which complicated running. Gluskin was too fast, and the only reason he hadn't caught him back then had been Waylon using his camcorder and hiding in the most random places. Gluskin noticed Waylon lagging behind him and eventually reached for his hand, making them look like Bonnie and Clyde, leaving the altar – about to fly the coop.

Running through the small corridors, carefully opening the doors in order to avoid any insane Variants, jumping over boxes and little shelves all of this gave Waylon mixed emotions. He had been chased by so many madmen, almost losing his life, ripping out a huge shard of metal of his leg, surviving Dissociative Dennis and Frank Manera, and for what? Fucking marrying Eddie Gluskin, accompanying him to his fucking home in Nebraska. Waylon could've thrown up – he was so pathetic. He hoped that Mr. Upshur hadn't read his e-mail, asking him to clarify the incidents in Mount Massive, putting himself in danger. Waylon fleeing with one of the Variants was a huge betrayal of him.

And don't get him started on Lisa.

Suddenly, Waylon heard a noise that sounded pretty familiar, making him gasp and forgetting about his self-pity.

"Darling, what's the matter?" his husband asked softly yet impatiently.

"I can smell you!" a voice screamed and a buzzsaw sounded shortly after. – "Frank Manera!" Waylon shrieked. "Shit! I totally forgot that he's still alive!"

"Who?" Gluskin asked with a frown. – "Frank Manara," Waylon screamed as he saw his buzzsaw showing behind the wall, "he almost cremated me, he said he wants to eat me! He has a buzzsaw, we need to go now!" But Gluskin didn't move, staring at Waylon. What was he waiting for?! Manera was fast and agile, he was going to kill and eat both of them if they didn't run!

"Eddie, what the hell, now come o– "

"He wanted to eat you out? Where do you know him from? Why didn't you tell me about him?" Gluskin yelled.

Waylon stared at him before laughing as he realized what was going on. Jealous. Gluskin was freaking jealous of Manera! Waylon would've facepalmed if he would've had time for that.

"No," he said firmly, "he literally wanted to eat me! He's a cannibal!" Gluskin clenched his fist.

Suddenly, they heard a voice screaming. "There you are! Hello, meat." The buzzsaw sounded and Gluskin turned around, seeing Manera. Waylon tried to grab Gluskin's hand and drag him away from the cannibal running towards him, spinning his buzzsaw, screaming: "Mine! You are MINE!"

"Eddie, he's going to kill you," Waylon screamed as he desperately tried to move Gluskin, "you have a knife, he's got a fucking buzzsaw!" – "Step aside, darling, and let me handle that," Gluskin said as he pushed Waylon away. Manera jumped over some chairs laying on the ground and screamed, running towards Gluskin.

"No! Please!" Waylon screamed as he saw Gluskin whipping out his knife, facing Manera. The buzzsaw sounded again, making Waylon's ears hurt, and then, both of them collided, and Waylon closed his eyes as he saw blood splattering the floor. He didn't dare to open them, standing there in a state of shock, holding his breath. Blood was running down the floor and wetted his feet, and some man was puffing, vomiting blood. No, no, no, no, no.

"That's what you get for touching her," Waylon heard a familiar voice say and he turned around, seeing Gluskin hitting Manera in the face; a buzzsaw sticking out of his torso. Then he looked at Waylon, standing in front of them, his mouth widely opened.

"Nobody touches you but me," Gluskin said firmly. Waylon swallowed. Manera was fast, of course, but nobody could compete with Gluskin, he was just too tall, strong and quick in his movements. Waylon looked into his eyes, glancing at him emotionlessly. While appearing vulnerable and romantic this morning, Gluskin now looked exactly like what he really was: a murderer.

Chaos. Chaos everywhere as Waylon arrived at the exit. Shot Variants laying everywhere, murdered SWAT members crawling on the ground, dying. Finally. "EXIT". There it was, the dazzling light of the sign, promising a new day with a new end. Waylon didn't know if he would be alive at the end of the day, leaving this asylum, walking down the stairs, but everything was better than this hell. The room was filled with red morning light, making it appear beautiful and calming. So innocent. It hurt to see what had hidden behind the walls of the asylum, behind the nice fountain, the beautiful forest … in the mountains. He looked up to Gluskin. It also was terrible to see what Blaire could do to all of the patients, locking them up in cells until they inserted tubes into their body. This place was rotten.

They were approaching the exit when Waylon noticed a man laying on the ground. He couldn't believe his eyes.

Blaire looked up in surprise. He looked damaged, probably got a beating. Waylon was disappointed – that filthy prick had managed to get this far.

"Mr. Park! How the fuck are you still alive? And is that a wedding dress!?" Waylon had been about to ask him the same thing. He was injured, looking at him so innocently with these little swinish eyes. It was satisfying to see him bleeding, dying. This man had so many dead people on his conscience. He made him sick. Suddenly, Blaire noticed Gluskin, and his pretty, innocent eyes widened.

"Shit, shit, shit," he gasped, "Gluskin? He's still …?! Why doesn't he attack you?" Then, he understood, bursting into crazy laughter.

"Oh, now I see! You and him are …? So this is why you're wearing that pretty dress. Did he make that for you? The programmer and the insane groom! What a couple! I swear, I'm in fucking stitches! Does Lisa know about this? This idiot finally found a bride. Oh my good, this is brilliant. Don't get too crazy on your wedding night!"

"Jeremy Blaire," Gluskin snarled, walking towards him, "head of the Mount Massive Asylum. What an honor." Blaire flinched, looking up to Gluskin, and his laughter sticked in his throat. He seemed to be in an inner conflict of mocking Gluskin and apologizing, trying to stay alive. Apparently, he chose to be a coward.

"Mr. Gluskin … the rashes have receded, haven't they? You're looking good! Did you make that suit? Really pretty, especially the bow! Anyway, l-let's make a deal, Mr. Park," he stuttered as he saw Gluskin clenching his fist. Waylon was just about to reject his friendly offer as he heard a voice.

"Making deals with Gluskin's bride? How low can you, a high officer of Murkoff Cooperation, get? I can't say it enough: If there's one thing I cannot god damned stand, it's a quitter." They all turned around, seeing Trager right in front of them. Why did he have to come creeping up all the time?!

Blaire shrieked, struggling for breath: "Holy shit …! Rick!" – "That's me, buddy," Trager said and Waylon heard him cracking his knuckles.

Blaire tried to stand up, but failed as the pain was too great. He held his stomach, reaching for a knife as Trager quickly kicked it away, waving his shears. Blaire swallowed and Waylon and Gluskin enjoyed the scenario.

"Thanks for bringing me to my old friend," Trager said, making Waylon realize that he'd been following them all the time, "for now we're even."

Gluskin took Waylon's hand, expecting Trager to change his mind. Waylon blushed before he saw Blaire looking at Trager, deeply terrified.

"Long time no see, Jer. It hurts seeing you being stuck like a pig. I see, you're injured. That looks bad, I'll probably need a few stitches. Or more. But no need to worry, you'll be ok. I'll give you a very special treatment."

"NO!" Blaire screamed as Trager punched him in the face, dragging him in the wheelchair and tying up his hands and feet.

"No, no, Rick! It's Jer, your old friend," Blaire cried coughing, spewing blood, "I didn't want that to happen to you, I swear! They made me do it! I know what you've been through! Come on, don't you remember hitting the greens?"

"I do remember, buddy. How about spending a bit time together? We haven't talked in ages. You don't believe in God, I guess? And what about money? Yeah, you look like someone who believes in money. Well, if not then I'll fix that for you," they heard Trager say as he slowly walked away with Blaire, crying and begging him to set him free, "because that's what I'm here for. To make you believe."

Waylon couldn't help but chuckle. The perfect ending for a man like Jeremy Blaire. But the horror wasn't over since Gluskin and Waylon heard two men running down the hallway.

"The twins," Gluskin suddenly said as he pushed Waylon to the exit, "get out! Now! I'll join you later, but for now you need to get yourself to safety!"

"I want his tongue and his liver," one of the giant men said and Waylon recognized them. – "They are yours," the other one said.

They started running towards them and after Gluskin's order to "Fucking run!", Waylon obeyed and ran for his life. Then he heard a man screaming and knives clashing. But Waylon ran. His leg hurt and Waylon needed to hold his breath in order not to scream. Where should he run? Where should he hide? There were dead people everywhere, blood had stained the grass red. The only safe place was a red jeep standing in front of the gate; B-67294 was its license plate.

He saw the keys laying somewhere on the seat and suddenly, a small thought settled in his mind. He could flee right now, right in this second. Could it be? Was he finally free? The thought was disgusting yet so attractive. Everything could be over in less than a minute, and he would get rid of Gluskin.

He wanted to open the door, putting a stop to all of this shit. But … he couldn't. The only reason for Waylon being alive was Eddie Gluskin. He owed him his life. He could't fail Gluskin … not again.

Waylon inhaled deeply and picked up a gun laying next to a dead SWAT member. And then he ran right to the entrance of the asylum where he already saw Gluskin standing up. He wasn't dead, thank God. Waylon didn't know much about weapons so he pulled the trigger, aiming at one of the twins and …

"Darling!" Gluskin said in surprise as Waylon tripped over one of the twins and smashed on the ground, dropping the gun. Of course this needed to happen.

"Lynn, you are so–," Gluskin said as he got punched in the face by the last of the twins, weakened and deeply injured. Gluskin rammed his knife into his chest.

"You are so sweet, I really appreciate your help, darling," Gluskin chuckled and gave Waylon a kiss on his forehead. Waylon blushed; he was such a fucking idiot. This was so embarrassing. He looked at Gluskin, walking down the stairs. Not a single scratch on his body, maybe a some small bruises. Now it was official: Gluskin was immortal.

"I've seen a jeep. We can use this one, the keys are laying on the seat." Gluskin nodded and held the door open for Waylon. "Are you sure that you want to drive?" the blond asked carefully.

"Thank's for the offer, darling," Eddie laughed, "but I'm the man and I'm going to drive." Waylon didn't dare to ask how long Gluskin hadn't driven a car. It must've been years.

"Shit," Waylon suddenly said as he saw a giant shadow approaching, "shit, shit, shit!" – "Darling, cursing isn't proper for a young lady like you."

"He's there, Eddie, the Walrider! Start the fucking motor!"

"Shit! I knew I could see him!" Gluskin yelled as he saw the black swarm approaching them; then he started the car and turned it around in the most impressive turning circle Waylon had ever seen concerning a huge car like that. Then, he hit the pedal and they drove away with a full throttle and squealing tires.

"Thank's for opening the gate," Waylon said. – "I didn't open the gate, darling."

Waylon remained silent, not wanting to think about all the strange things happening at Mount Massive.

After they had discussed where to drive, Waylon had noticed that Gluskin's driving skills weren't rusty at all. He started calm down. So far so good. His plan of surviving had changed about five times and now they were about to drive to Nebraska. Waylon sighed. Why not? It wasn't like he had a life without Gluskin or something. Waylon needed to plan the next steps. He still had his camcorder and the files he had collected. Gluskin's "provisions" were laying somewhere in the entrance of Mount Massive; he only had his knife. Waylon was injured, but it was only his foot that had gotten quite a bashing, but nothing more. He still had his misters and apart from the fact that he was wearing a wedding dress, everything was "fine". More or less. Lisa was used to Waylon staying more than four weeks at Mount Massive so she didn't suspect a thing. It was a matter of time when she would read about Mount Massive in the newspaper.

He looked at Gluskin. He didn't say a word and yet he didn't look like he was thinking about something. His window was opened and Waylon could sense a light breeze. One arm was leaning out of the window, one hand was laying on the wheel. His hair was a bit messy as Waylon noticed tiredly. He actually had a nice profile despite his marks and wounds. His prominent nose somehow matched well with his arched eyebrows, almost framing his light blue eyes, rounded off by his red lips.

"I know I look good, darling," he said and Waylon blushed as he looked away quickly. Gluskin chuckled. His eyes shined, looking like forget-me-not.

Forget-me-not. One of the few flowers Waylon knew by name. They were Lisa's favorite ones.

I won't forget you, Lisa. I know this sounds stupid but please believe me, this will be over soon and I might seem crazy, but I think there's something awaiting us, and I'm afraid it's … the truth. Lisa, promise me, don't be afraid as soon as you hear about him. He really is confused, that's it. I slowly start to know him, so just trust me.

The last thing Waylon heard was the rain softly pelting down on the roof of the car. The last thing Waylon saw was the windscreen wiper waving rhythmically as it was saying goodbye.

So long, Lisa, and hello Eddie.


	5. A Boat Floating on the Ocean

A Boat Floating on the Ocean

She had fallen asleep one hour ago, so they didn't really talk, but Eddie was alright. She had looked exhausted, her leg must've hurt a lot. Eddie was still sorry for her, he hadn't meant to hurt her. Then again, she had deserved getting punished back then. Why had she wanted to leave him? Had it been right to hit her? Sometimes, a woman needed punishing. It was in their nature. They were fleeting creatures, like cats, always searching for a better alternative. But it was up to the man deciding where to set the limits, what to punish and what tolerate, and if it was a good man, he was strict yet generous and lenient. Then it was up to the woman whether to obey. If she didn't, the man needed to talk to her, explaining her the mistake she had made. If she didn't obey after that talk, then it was up to the man punishing her. That was Eddie's view of relationships, actually a pretty common one. Maybe a bit modern, and not so much of that old school style he actually liked, but he needed to go with the time.

However, this woman was perfect and would, especially as a mother, go beyond all expectations. Eddie knew it. There was something about her.

The rain had stopped about one hour ago. Lynn was still sleeping. He had found an old map in the car. First of all, they needed to get to the end of Colorado. Then they would see. Eddie took a look at the fuel gauge. They needed to gas. Since they had been driving straight ahead for more than two hours, Eddie had found out that the owner of the jeep was called "Miles Upshur". He wondered if he was still alive.

Slowly, Eddie started to get tired. It was early evening and the night was already falling. Eddie had never thought about ending up here, driving home, next to the love of his life. Everything went so much better than expected. He finally got someone he could protect. Lynn. This name … it had shown up on his mind before he had even known her name. Fitting so well with "Waylon" had been a coincidence.

Once, when Eddie had been caressing her hair and smelling her scent, he had felt something really strange. Like a déjà vu. A short moment of tenderness, vanished as fast as it had appeared, leaving him in some sort of emptiness.

All this emptiness. He couldn't bear it anymore. Sometimes, his body felt like a boat, floating on the ocean, nowhere to dock. Lost. And he could row and row until his arms get tired, and he would continue to row and still … nothing. Sometimes, this emptiness, this loneliness, was devouring him and then he needed to take his mind off things.

Suddenly, a yawn. She was awake. "Ugh … How long have I been asleep?" She was so sweet, her cheeks were glowing. Her hair was a bit messy, Eddie liked that. "Darling, you're awake. About one and a half hours."

After having a quick stretch, she said, "I had a strange dream. There were some flowers and my wi– And a woman." Eddie nodded. "A friend of yours?" – Lynn sighed, "Uhm, yeah, you might say that."

They said nothing to each other for a long time. "So, are you hungry?" Eddie asked as the silence became too awkward. "I need to gas anyway and I lost our provisions."

"I know I should be, but I actually don't feel like eating. I think I'll pass." – "Suit yourself, darling. I'm not hungry either. … But, Lynn, you don't say that because you think you're too, uhm, thick, do you?" Eddie blushed. Despite being a gentleman and distinguished, he sometimes behaved a bit awkwardly around women. He knew that. It's been a while since he had talked to an honest woman. Women like Lynn were a bit easier to talk to, but there were complicated topics as well.

"Don't worry, I don't." – "Okay. You know, a woman is supposed to be curvy and aesthetic and she won't be admired by men if she's just skin and bone. After all, she needs to bear three children or more. So you really should gain a bit more weight, it'll suit you well, darling."

"I thought I was heavier than I look?" she suddenly said, with this specific tone all women used when they were mad. Eddie caught his breath, feeling his hands sweat. Fuck, she did remember. "Did I really say that? Uhm, well, I must've lost my temper, darling. I really didn't mean it like that."

He didn't dare to go on correcting his statement. God, he hoped she didn't believe him, saying she was too thick. Nobody could beat her. She was the epitome of perfection. The only reason he had said things like this was him knowing that she was strong enough to take things like this.

"Eddie?" she said out of nothing. – "Darling?" he replied.

"Don't you really remember anything? I mean … where are your parents? Weren't you allowed to stay in contact?"

"Uhm …" Eddie opened his mouth, but closed it again. He really couldn't answer her question. There was nothing. A big pile of information banned from his memory he didn't have access to.

"I don't … know," he stuttered, "I somehow don't remember. They said I've killed two women before I was committed to Mount Massive. But … not to my knowledge. I mean, this is something you'd normally remember, right? Everything's so, so blurry. They said I mutilated them." He struggled for words.

"Two women? Two … real women? Holy shit," Lynn said. Eddie nodded. The only thing Eddie did remember was two women making him furious a long time ago. But why?

"And what about your parents?"

Eddie remained quiet. "… I somehow remember mother cooking in the kitchen, smelling the scent of dinner, seeing her dress flow. She taught me how to sew. And father … we used to play football. He was tall and … he had a loud voice. Mother and father never really fought."

"What about you, darling?" Eddie asked since he didn't want to talk about this topic anymore. "It occurs to me that we've never talked about you. Where are you from and how did you end up in Mount Massive?"

"Well," his darling said, "I was born in a small village in California. I graduated cum laude from Berkeley and yeah, I later settled down in Leadville for working for Murk– Uh, uhm, because I eventually got committed to Mount Massive."

"Oh," Eddie said, "pretty and smart. Looks like I've hit the jackpot. Though a woman should, you know, stay at home and do the household. I mean, why study then?"

"Uh, really? What about school?" Lynn asked. Eddie laughed. "Of course they can go to school, but not longer than 6 years. Then you'll teach them the really important things. Sewing is one of them. It's easy once you know the ropes."

Yes, she was smart, and this was really a turn on, but no need to know more than the man. At the end of the day it was him who made the decisions.

"… I knew you weren't one of them," Eddie suddenly said, "though I could've sworn that I've seen your face." Maybe it hadn't been Lynn back then in the Underground Lab. Lynn wouldn't have done that. He must've seen wrong.

"Why were you in Mount Massive, darling?" – "Uh, I, I had fallen in love with someone but, uh, he passed away and then I got depressed, and, uh, everything." – "I'm sorry to hear that, darling, but let's be glad that it happened that way because now you could find me … or I could find you," Eddie smiled. Lynn sighed, she had probably never thought about that. Silly little girl. Eddie was so happy to have her.

"I'm going to stop on the next gas station. You want anything?" – "Maybe something to drink. And how do you want to pay?"

Eddie took Mr. Upshur's credit card and threw it on her lap. Suddenly, she gasped. "Oh my god," she said, "oh my fucking …" – "Darling, what have I said about cursing? What's the matter?"

She swallowed. "Nothing." Eddie sniffed. Miles Upshur. Probably another one who wanted her, just like this cannibal. Poor thing. Ha! Being beautiful surely wasn't easy.

"You sure we want to gas here?" Lynn asked as they stopped at the first gas station that had come along. "There are a lot of people …"

"What's the matter?" Eddie asked. "There are only one, two … three people." Lynn was silent.

"Oh, I get it," he said, "you don't want to gas in a wedding dress. Well, you don't have to anyway, I'm the man thus I'll gas and pay." He wanted to get out of the car as Lynn grabbed his arm.

"Eddie, you can't go in there, why don't you understand? Look at you!" Eddie stared at her, wondering what was wrong with the way he looked. Maybe it was his suit, but compared to her wedding dress, this shouldn't have been a problem.

"What's wrong, darling? We really don't have time to argue. I know, gassing in a suit isn't that common."

"No!" she said firmly. Eddie sighed. Women were the fairer and definitely the more complicated sex.

"Eddie, no offense but … look at your face. They'd report us in less than a minute." – "What's wrong with my face?" It could've been a bit red since Eddie sometimes needed to scratch it; after they had put these tubes into his body, his face had gotten a bit itchy. Lynn stared at him, and he could see her eyes moving, observing his face and his upper body.

"Well," she said after a while, "you don't look like that guy … Mr. Upshur. Maybe there's a picture of him on the credit card. You can't just … " – "Don't you worry, Darling, there's no picture." – "And what about the pin?"

Eddie sighed. "Darling, no offense, but you really start to get on my nerves. Just lean back and wait for me. It won't take long." He kissed her on her forehead, then he got out of the car.

After the tap had locked in, he leaned on the car, feeling a wave of tiredness running over him. They needed to rest somewhere as soon as possible. His eyes were dry and he couldn't see that well; sometimes they hurt and were watering. He looked into the distance, noticing the sun going down. It was a nice summer evening. The crickets were chirping and he could hear the grass rustling. It had been a while since he had been outside, getting some fresh air. He looked at his hands and sniffed at his suit; it had seen better days, he guessed. Blood everywhere, and dirt under his fingernails. A bath wouldn't go amiss.

The sound of the tap interrupted his thoughts. Time to pay. He lethargically got off the car and walked towards the gas station as he saw a woman standing next to her child, a little girl. Eddie smiley, she looked so cute wearing this little dress and wiggling with her two ponytails. Maybe their third child could be a girl as cute as this one. Lynn surely got the bent for it.

"Good evening, little lady," he said as he bended over, facing the little girl, "that's a beautiful dress you're wearing. Did your mommy make that for you?"

The little girl turned around in confusion, and stared at Eddie smiling at her. Suddenly, she opened her mouth and shouted out before she started to cry.

"Emma, why are you…" her mother said as she noticed her daughter crying, gasping and grabbing her hand, "don't let strangers talk to you! And you: Get off and leave my daughter alone, you creep!"

Then she ran away, dragging the crying girl away from Eddie. He looked after the couple entering a car and driving off, standing in front of the gas station, confused and trying to understand what the hell just happened. He was just trying to be kind, trying to communicate with someone who wasn't a Variant or his girlfriend. Was he really that bad at conversations?

Blood. There must've been blood somewhere on his body. Maybe his face was bloodstained? Then again, Lynn would've told him. Why was everyone going so crazy about his look?

A little more insecure than before, he entered the store, casting a glance at Lynn sitting in the car. Dim light was shining on the simple range of snacks and drinks, muzak burbling from loudspeakers above the freezer units. He grabbed a water, then he went to the check-out.

"Number 2, please, and this water."

"Yeah, one moment, Sir," the corpulent man said, rummaging in a box behind the counter. Eddie rested his hands on his hips, starting to count the seconds. Then he noticed something strange on the upper right corner of the room; a mirror. Someone with a red face was shown, but he couldn't look closer since his sight was still blurry.

"So, what was it again?" the man suddenly asked and shrieked with fright as Eddie turned around.

"P-Please, don't hurt me! I'll do what you want!" Eddie scrutinized him getting in a sweat; his chubby face was melting with fear. He started to get angry.

"As I said, number two and this water," Eddie repeated, gnashing his teeth. The man gasped as he waved with his hands, struggling for breath.

"P-Please, I, I have two children and m-my wife just left me," he sobbed as he put his hands up.

"What? I don't care," Eddie snarled, banging his fist on the counter, "just tell me how much I have to pay!"

Suddenly, a bell ringing; then a delicate voice. "Eddie, is there a problem?"

"No, I'm just trying to pay, get back in the car, darling, I'll be there in a second," Eddie said as he saw his love's insecure look. Then, her gaze wandered to the cashier, staring at her like she was a ghost or something, still holding his hand in the air.

"G-Go now or I … I, I'll call the police!" the cashier stuttered in a fit of courage.

"That's enough," Eddie said, grabbing the man's collar as he dragged him over the counter, "tell me the fucking price, now!"

"Eddie, stop," Lynn yelled, wrapping her arms around him as she tried to pull him away from the man behind the counter, "let's just go, okay?! Please!"

"What's your fucking problem," Eddie yelled furiously, "why won't you tell me the fucking price!"

Suddenly, the man stopped crying and didn't move anymore, then he closed his eyes, falling on the counter. Eddie held his breath. What the hell was going on?

"What did you do?" Lynn screamed in panic. – "I didn't do anything!" Eddie replied, looking at the passed out man, sleeping on the counter.

A few seconds passed as they were staring at the cashier, then their eyes met.

"Come on, Eddie, let's go," Lynn sighed and Eddie, confused and irritated, followed her to the exit.

"I don't understand," Eddie said after getting in the car, wanting to start the motor, "what's wrong with my appearance?!"

Lynn remained quiet as she avoided his gaze. There was something in her eyes that made him insecure.

"Darling …?" he asked as his heart started beating faster. "Darling, answer me!"

Lynn, obviously uncomfortable, opened her mouth, fidgeting with her hands. "Did your face start itching after the hormone therapy and latex tubing in Mount Massive?" she asked carefully, but somehow Eddie knew that she was aware of his answer.

"Yes," he answered, "… why?" Her next question took a while. "Now … when was the last time you looked in a mirror?"

Eddie didn't understand, and yet he could feel his heart racing; he dried his sweating hands on his pants. The answer was "no".

Suddenly, he could see her reaching out her arm and slowly folding down the sun visor, looking sad and compassionate at the same time. What was wrong?

He knew as he looked into the mirror right in front of him.

"Holy shit," he gasped.

He couldn't believe what he saw. Murky, bloodshot eyes were looking at him, on a scarred face that looked like someone dropped red paint on it. Slowly, his fingers wandered to his cheeks, feeling the claret skin peelings. He didn't dare to turn his face, so he looked at his damaged lips, chapped by the tubes. This explained the daily taste of iron. Dark circles were hanging under his eyes, making him look like a monster.

He knew hadn't really been good-looking at any point of his life, especially not during the hormone therapy, when he was overtired and weakened, but this … this was a whole new form of how awful a man could look.

They had disfigured his face.

"Let's go," Eddie said monotonously as he closed the mirror, "we need a place to sleep. Maybe we can find a calm field edge with some grass, after all it's not really cold."

"Yeah," he heard Lynn say, struggling for words, "uhm, I … yeah, let's go."


	6. Lips Are Lips

Lips Are Lips

They drove for a long time, at least an hour, probably more. Waylon was sitting next to Eddie, half asleep, thinking. Eddie hadn't said a word in this hour, and Waylon felt terrible, though he didn't dare to start a conversation.

Yes, it was bad, and yes, he did look … strange. But the wounds would heal and one day the scars would fade away. Waylon sighed, thinking about Eddie telling him he knew he looked good. Waylon had the feeling that Eddie didn't really think he was good-looking. He sighed. Waylon was a straight man in his early thirties, and well, perhaps Eddie didn't look like a model, didn't even look average, but he didn't look bad as well. Then again, who was he to judge? He was wearing a wedding dress since almost 12 hours. Things had gotten complicated by now.

"How about this place, darling?" Eddie asked and Waylon was glad to hear his voice again. "Yeah, sure."

Waylon noticed the stars shining as he got out off the car. Eddie had stopped on the edge of a sunflower field. A big, round full moon looked down on him. It had gotten warmer as well and the air smelled like a mixture of rain and fresh earth. Eddie loosened up his bow-tie, starting to sweat because of the heat. He was tired, too, even though he didn't want to admit it. Waylon could see it in his eyes, they were so red from exhaustion! … Waylon chuckled, earning a confused smile from Eddie who was opening the trunk.

"Look what I found, darling," he smiled as he spread out a woolen blanket on the grass.

"Are you really sure about sleeping outside? There could be, uhm …" – "Psychopaths? Madmen?" Eddie laughed. Waylon sighed, smiling carefully. Well, Eddie was right. At the end of the day, he still had his bodyguard.

Then, Waylon rested his head on Eddie's arm, staring at the night sky. Everything was calm. He could hear the man next to him breathing, feel his hand caressing his hair. Sometimes, Waylon had the feeling that he started to know him, understand his thoughts … feel his lust. Being called "darling" began to be flattering, being touched wasn't as disgusting as it had used to be, enduring his lips … He slowly liked his weird, dark voice, his old-fashioned expressions, the way his eyebrows raised when talking, his lips forming a smile seeing Waylon … liked how stubbornly he thought he was in love with Waylon. Almost endearing. But then again, one false move, one inappropriate word and Waylon was dead.

Lisa, I wish you were here. What kind of relationship is this? What am I doing here? I should be with you and the twins. Why did't I shoot him when I had the chance to? Or at least: why didn't I just run? The more I know him and the more I like him, the more I realize that I've made the mistake of my life. Lisa, what are you doing in this moment? Are you thinking about me? Are you wondering what I'm doing? Please, don't you worry about me, I don't want anything happen to the twins. I don't know if I'll survive that last chapter of destroying Murkoff, so promise: Go and find Miles Upshur. Tell him I'm sorry for taking his jeep and tell him whatever happened to him, it's my fault. … I really hope to come home one day.

… I think he needs my help, and I guess I own him one. He's insane, but he's a broken man.

"You could've done it, but you didn't," Eddie said quietly, glancing at Waylon who gave him a confused look, "when I got attacked by the twins. You could've left me but you decided not to."

Waylon swallowed, starting to feel guilty because of his latest thoughts. "Of course I didn't." – "This is the difference between you and all the others. You truly love me and you would never want to leave me. This kind of mother is what I want for my children."

"Ugh, y-yeah, me too," Waylon stuttered before realizing this didn't really made sense.

"You truly are a gift, my love," Eddie said as he leaned over Waylon. "You're so precious." Waylon could hear his voice quaver. Then he took the blond's hands and pushed them on the ground, carefully, as he expected them to break any second. Waylon could feel Eddie's thumbs caressing his palms, hearing him swallow.

"I … I'm sorry for what I've done," he said, "you changed me. You made me realize so much things. I've always preached love but I never really experienced it. Now I do. I'm sorry for forcing you to be fixed. I now understand you running away from me. Of course you didn't want to be fixed yet – what for? You barely knew me. I could've been some stranger saying everything to get you. But … you took your time and proved that you're worth waiting for."

Waylon could feel a lump in his throat. Indeed, he was a broken man, but maybe Waylon had been wrong. Maybe Eddie really loved him, loved him with all his heart. Waylon knew he was living in a delusion and he knew that Eddie had said this to all of his victims, but maybe his love … was real?

"You love me despite how I look," he laughed tiredly, "we're the beauty and the beast." Waylon smiled, as he removed his hand from Eddie's and caressed his high cheekbones. Eddie bowed his head and nestled it in Waylon's hand. Then he turned his head and kissed his palm, his arm, his shoulder and until he rested his lips on Waylon's neck, kissing every inch of it. Waylon held his breath, getting a fright as he noticed himself starting to enjoy it.

Lips were just lips and a kiss was just a kiss … Right?

Waylon was losing his mind. What was happening right now? … What about Lisa? Why didn't he feel the urge to push Eddie away? Why didn't these bloody, chapped lips make him shiver anymore? It was all for his safety … right?

"Eddie," Waylon breathed, "no, we … we can't …" Suddenly, Eddie put his knee between Waylon's thighs as he leaned over to kiss him, then paused when their lips were barely touching, breathing his air.

"No, Eddie, please," Waylon begged, feeling his groins burn, "no … I can't …" He jerked as Eddie rucked his dress up, running his fingers over his hips, purring into his ear and tugging his earlobes with his teeth. What was happening right now?

"Yes, you can," he murmured as he cupped Waylon's cheeks, "look at me." Waylon, who had avoided his gaze by screwing up his eyes, slowly opened them and looked into his aroused face. Steel-blue eyes were looking at him, eagerly, almost desperately. Waylon's heart pounded as he felt fuzzy, drowning in shame.

"We shouldn't …" Waylon said but Eddie placed a finger against his lips, ghosting over his neck with his hand.

"Shut up, darling," he said sensually, and Waylon obeyed. Then he carefully shoved a hand between Waylon's thighs, spreading them before he put his other knee between his legs. Waylon splayed his hands across Eddie's back, raking his nails across his sh irt as Eddie softly bit his collarbones, sucking his skin into his mouth and running his tongue over Waylon's neck.

I can't do that, Waylon thought, feeling hazy. Drunk. His head was spinning as he could feel the weight of Eddie's body on his chest, his fingers grabbing his hips, feeling him pressing his crotch against Waylon's. What was that making him moan, making him enjoy being touched by this man, his tall hands, his dirty gloves?

Breathlessly, he watched Eddie unbutton his vest, throwing it somewhere on the ground. Then his dress shirt. The moon shone on his body; he was muscular, damaged. He had worn well for his age, but he wasn't that young, too. Then he kissed him, shoving his hand under Waylon's head. He could feel his warm torso touch Waylon's, his hair was tickling Waylon's chest.

"Do you love me?" Eddie asked obsequiously, breathing against Waylon's nape. Waylon swallowed, feeling Eddie's soft kisses on his neck. "Yes I do," he replied dizzy. What choice did he have?

"Then take me," Eddie muttered and Waylon wrapped his arms around his strong neck, feeling his moan against his lips. This time, Eddie's lips were a bit softer, a bit wetter. Waylon could feel him gently biting his lower lip, caressing it with his tongue and running it over his lips. How could an insane murderer be so gentle, so loving?

He was so tall, so muscular, so rough and yet his body was so soft. He was the kind of man Waylon, slim and feminine, had always wanted to be. The touch of Eddie's chapped lips on his sensitive skin made his blood buzz in his ears; the look of his bright yet dark eyes gave him breath hitches. Suddenly, Eddie grasped his chin, carefully opening Waylon's mouth as he pressed his lips on his. Then he could feel Eddie's warm tongue entering his mouth. He pinned Waylon's wrist as he noticed him shaking, breathing heavily, pressing his mouth on his and rolling his tongue over Waylon's. Waylon uttered a moan as he felt Eddie's tongue swirling around his, groaning with arousal.

Waylon didn't know what he was doing when he started to let his hand travel over Eddie's chest and to his abs. "Darling," Eddie murmured as he kissed him again, clenching Waylon's flushing body and rubbing himself against him, "I want you to touch me. I want you pure, want to feel your body on mine, feel your hands on …" He stopped as he grabbed Waylon's hand and pressed it against his excitement.

"I want you, too," Waylon said dazedly, feeling his back sweating. Then he grabbed Eddie's head and pressed his lips on Eddie's, moaning louder than he wanted to. He could feel his hot breath against his lips, could inhale his air and feel their tongues rolling over each other.

"Darling, I've been thinking," Eddie said tenderly, moistening his lips, "and I can't stand it anymore. I want you, all of you, and I don't care if you're an honest woman or not. You're my woman and I want to love you and only forever. Fixing you can wait."

He gave him a passionate kiss, running his hands over Waylon's wet body, then he reached out his hand as he stood up. "Stand up, darling. I have a question for you."

As soon as Waylon had stood up, he could feel his knees buckling, knowing what was awaiting him as Eddie sank down on his knees. He reached into his pocket, taking out something small.

Waylon swallowed as he looked into his eyes, feeling his heart racing. The moment had come, the moment he had feared the most. This wasn't just a proposal. This was a door opening. The only reason Eddie had controlled his desires had been the two not being married yet. In other words: If Waylon now accepted Eddie's proposal, being engaged would be enough for Eddie and he would do to him what he wanted to.

"My whole life I've always been searching for the right woman", he said opening the little black box, "46 years, if you will." He laughed as he took Waylon's hand. "I have looked all over but no girly could I find who seems to be just like the little girl I have in mind. Lynn?"

Waylon swallowed as he closed his eyes, hoping he would say something different than what Waylon expected him to. But no other words than these four were said in this summer night.

"Will you marry me?"

Waylon opened his eyes, feeling his lips shake. There he was. Eddie Gluskin, kneeing in front of him, presenting him an actual engagement ring. He really had taken him to his heart by now so it hurt terribly seeing him there, full of delusion, in anticipation of Waylon accepting … of their future life together. Of course he didn't want to marry him. He was married himself and lucky that he had always kept the ring at home, being too afraid to lose him. He looked at the ring Eddie was presenting; it was small and delicate, with a little stone on top of it. Lisa's engagement ring wasn't that pretty since Waylon hadn't had the money to buy a prettier one. But she had been happy anyway.

He looked into Eddie's eyes, and suddenly, for one second, he recognized something different in his face, and without thinking hard, he knew what it was. For one second he looked exactly like the Eddie Gluskin who had made him hang, who had tried to kill him and tried to cut off his genitals with a saw. This man was the same one, he was just kneeing in front of him.

Suddenly, Waylon got sobered up. What the hell was happening right now and how did Waylon let that happen?

"I … I can't," Waylon whispered sobbing, feeling his back wetting as he forced himself to say these words.

"I beg your pardon, darling. You need to speak louder," Eddie smiled.

"I … I …" Waylon stuttered and suddenly, in a fit of fear thinking about the consequences concerning this night, he made a leap and started to run. He didn't know where to go; everything was dark.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! He couldn't get back to the car since Eddie had the key so he just ran towards the sunflower field, feeling his heart stuttering in his chest.

Fuck, I can't see shit! Why did I do that?! Lisa, he thought breathlessly, now it's official, I'm a fucking madman. Fuck, I don't want to die, Lisa! Shit! Why did I do this!?

"DARLING!" he heard Eddie scream. Suddenly, Waylon heard footsteps behind him. He held his breath. His running start was over. Now it was time to run for his life because he wouldn't get away with fleeing this time. Shit! He didn't want to sleep with Eddie, but he didn't want to die, either!

While running as fast as he could, feeling his wound burn in his leg, he began to lose his orientation. Waylon's heart was racing as he entered the sunflower field, jumping on the ground and holding his breath.

"Come back to me, you crazy bitch!" Eddie yelled furiously and Waylon could hear the sunflowers rustle. The memories of being chased by Eddie burned in his mind, and he could feel the adrenaline running through his body, almost making him black out.

"Looks like I was mistaken about you. I really thought you were special. Apparently, you're even worse than the others. Leaving me in the moment of my proposal. All of you whores," he yelled in a fury as he searched for him in the sunflower field, "you're nobody's mother. You don't deserve my children! I can't believe I fell for you."

Suddenly, everything got quiet. Waylon desperately tried to detect Eddie but his breathing was too loud and if he would hold his breath, he would've instantly thrown up. Carefully, he sneaked through the sunflower field, crawling on the wet ground.

"Hmmm … the smell of my love's arbor," Eddie said sensually, and Waylon's hair was sticking up all over the place remembering the last time hearing that phrase. But it was just a bluff … right? Shit! Where was his camcorder when Waylon needed it?! God – Why had he done that again?! If Eddie would've find him now, he was dead. How naive, thinking he would manage to escape Eddie Gluskin, the man who had survived the Twins, Chris Walker and Manera.

"There you are, darling. This is so you, always up for a game of hide-and-seek," he said and Waylon almost got a heart attack hearing his dark voice in less than one foot distance, "I'm not done with you yet, you slut."

Waylon saw his bright eyes glancing at him, and he instantly stood up and ran, holding back a scream and feeling his lungs burn, but the footsteps were getting closer and closer, and suddenly, he felt a hand grabbing his hair. Then a fall, and both of them smashed onto the path between the sunflowers.

"One more," Eddie snarled as he punched Waylon in the face, "I try. And I try. And you all betray me." Waylon felt the dull pain of Eddie hitting him in the face once, twice, three times, four times. He wanted to scream, wanted to resist but he was too weakened, the sounds … the sounds were all mixing up, all of Eddie's insults echoing in his ears. Everything got blurry; Waylon started to black out.

"Look what you've done to me. Look what you've made me do to you, you filthy whore. I should have resisted your seductions. They were lies, all lies." The words echoed in Waylon's ears but he barely understood them. The tall man was leaning over him; his ugly, beautiful face was blocking Waylon's view of the moon. His head was throbbing; everything was going round and round. Waylon needed to puke.

"No, Eddie, p-please …" Waylon breathed. – Another one, directly on Waylon's head. He sensed warm blood running down his cheek, covering his lips. They were chapped, just like Eddie's, and his teeth hurt like they were about to fall off.

"I-I'm sorry," Waylon sobbed dazedly as Eddie pinned his wrists, pressing them on the ground. He couldn't think properly, everything happened so … fast.

"You are my wife," Eddie growled, bowing his head as he pressed his lips on Waylon's, worsening the pain of Waylon's lips, "so you do as I say." He dropped his wrists and harshly raked his nails through Waylon's hair, as he shoved his tongue into Waylon's mouth. This time, Eddie wasn't gentle at all.

"Kissing quite well for a dishonest woman," he said as he undid the button of his cargo pants, "and since this is what you really are, let's treat you like one."

"No, don't do that …!" Waylon gasped as Eddie took off his pants. Then he pressed one hand on the ground, grabbing Waylon's hand and putting it on his excitement.

"Take it," he moaned as he shoved a hand in his underpants, taking out his bare erection and sending shivers up Waylon's spine. He slipped it into Waylon's hand, clasping it with his own large hand, moving it up and down. Waylon didn't dare to resist, though he couldn't choke back his tears as he felt the soft yet hard skin between his hands. It was so big, much bigger than Waylon's. He swallowed thinking about what was awaiting him.

"Ugh … harder, darling," Eddie groaned and Waylon obeyed, holding his breath while trying not to cry. He could feel Eddie's body shiver; shaking with every time Waylon pulled the foreskin back and exposed the head. It felt like there was old blood sticking to it, and Waylon didn't want to know why.

"Feel it, darling," he said wantonly, grabbing Waylon's other hand and putting it on his testicles, "this is yours, all yours."

"P-Please," Waylon whimpered, shivering with disgust as he felt Eddie's soft pubic hair being caked with blood, "d-don't kill me, please …" Waylon held his breath realizing what had just escaped his lips.

"What did you just …? You're my wife, say it," Eddie ordered and Waylon winced.

"I'm .… I'm your wife," he sobbed.

"Say that you'll never leave me!" Eddie yelled, and suddenly Waylon could hear something different in his voice, but he couldn't tell what it was. Eddie had leaned over him and Waylon could feel his warm breath on his neck.

"I'll never leave you," Waylon whimpered, still jerking him off.

"Say … say that you will bear me two sons!" Eddie rasped and suddenly, the skin between Waylon's hand got soft. What was going on? He could't see Eddie's face since he had buried it in Waylon's neck.

"I'll bear you two sons," Waylon whispered, desperately trying to hold back his tears. In this moment he would've said anything not to get raped.

Suddenly, Waylon felt blood again, running down his neck, though he couldn't remember Eddie hitting him there. Eddie silenced, and his firm grip relaxed. His body shook.

"Say … say that … y-you love m-me." Then, Waylon knew what had been wetting his neck. It wasn't blood. It were tears. Eddie cried out as he carefully wrapped his arms around Waylon's head, sobbing uncontrollably.

Waylon swallowed as he couldn't help but stoking his head and raking his fingers through his hair. What a poor creature he was, what a broken man. Waylon had never met anyone as insecure as Eddie Gluskin.

"There, there," Waylon said gently, caressing Eddie's trembling back as he felt hot tears running down his neck. He knew how to comfort people since he had a little sister he always had to take care of. Also, Lisa cried a lot.

"I-I'm sorry, Lynn, I'm … they … they tried to," Eddie sobbed, not being able to finish a singe sentence, "d-don't … Don't leave me. You're everything I have. I-I don't have anyone else but you. I'm so alone."

He rose his head and watery eyes were looking at Waylon. He had never seen Eddie like this. Frail, vulnerable.

"I try to remember but … everything's so, so blurred. I remember mother cooking but her eyes … I don't remember her eye color, I, I … was it green? Like yours? Or was it blue? Why can't I remember? I remember almost every Christmas and yet everything's so vague." Eddie turned his head, thinking intensively, and Waylon was stroking his head, not daring to mention that his weight on his chest was choking him or that he hadn't buttoned up his pants yet.

"But there's always something I feel but I … I can't …There is this … undefinable pain that bugs be every second of my life. I always try, but I can't describe it. When I got committed to this hell I forgot everything, they gave me pills and everything. I now what they've been doing to me! Because since then, my memory slowly started to fade away. I always feel that … that emptiness inside me. Something's wrong. I … I cant stand this anymore. I need to find out about where I'm from and what I've done."

Waylon looked at him, seeing the pain in his eyes while trying to describe Waylon how he felt. Though he should've feared him, he had nothing but pure compassion for this man right now. Waylon knew how it felt being an outcast, not knowing where to go.

"I'm terribly sorry for what I've done to you. Look at you,", Eddie stroke his bruises, kissing each of them, "I … I guess I don't know what to do without you. The … the scent of your soft skin makes me wanna melt. It's so clean, like fresh soap, it melts my heart, I think i now it from somewhere. … I've lost my temper, again. So I beg you, please forgive me, darling."

Oh, Lisa, what have I done? Looks like I'll never get it. I'm such a fucking idiot. Why did I run away? And why am I forgiving him in the first place? … Probably because he needs me. Look at him. He's confused and, more importantly, I'm the only one who can help him. I don't know but I feel like I need to. … I start to lose my mind, Lisa.

"Come on," Waylon said, kissing Eddie on the cheek, "let's get some sleep. Please." Eddie silently obeyed, ashamed of what he just had done.

"Oh, almost forgot to reply," Waylon said tiredly smiling, and Eddie looked up, "yes, I do."

Both of them smiled as Eddie wrapped his arms around Waylon, holding him tight. Then they set out for the car.


	7. Sultry & Stale

Sultry & Stale

"As I said, we've missed it."

"Again, we didn't."

"Look, there's the forest and it's on the right side on the map."

"Well, you're holding it wrong then."

"Seriously? Okay, fine. But don't you dare to complain that you need to turn after you've realized," Waylon paused as he noticed Eddie was right, he held the map the wrong way around. "Uhm …"

"Realized what, darling?" Eddie grinned. Waylon sniffed. "Nothing."

"So you did hold it …" – "Just concentrate on driving and not killing us, okay?" Waylon bleated in a huff. Eddie chuckled.

This morning, Waylon had woken up in Eddie's arms though he hadn't fallen asleep in them, since he had preferred to sleep separately. A sleepy kiss on the lips had waken him up. After driving for half an hour, they had found a gas station Waylon had entered, buying some food and something to drink. Eddie hadn't been very talkative since he was still ashamed of what had happened the night before. After his constant apologies had slowly thinned out, they had begun to talk to each other normally again. More than normally – they started to talk like a real couple. Waylon reminded himself a bit of Lisa and he didn't know if this was a good thing.

He started to think less about her.

The street reminded Waylon a bit of Route 66, seeming like it was never ending. It was a warm day and their windows were opened. Waylon had his eyes closed, enjoying the cool breeze, smelling the country air that reminded him of his childhood he had spent with his grandparents in Henderson, Nevada. Then his gaze wandered down to his dress. It was dirty and had green stains of sunflowers everywhere.

"I'm sorry for soiling your dress …" he said honestly, fidgeting with his fingers. – "You ran away from me. Perfectly understandable. I lost my temper," Eddie said firmly, "but there's one thing you mustn't do." Waylon swallowed.

"Don't ever," Eddie paused, "it's just … seeing you under me, begging me not to kill you … it broke my heart. Never even think about that, darling. Back when I didn't know you that well, I thought you were just one of … one of these whores. Hiding from me was probably the right thing to do. But now … I … don't, just don't, okay? I would die for you, mark my words."

Waylon nodded quietly, remembering Eddie saving him from Walker and the twins. Eddie looked troubled and Waylon was depressed thinking about last night. Eddie reached out a hand and Waylon grabbed it, then he felt Eddie's thumb caressing his palm. He swallowed; last night weighed heavily on Waylon, and still he couldn't stop developing tender feelings for him. He touched him in a special way Waylon couldn't interpret, somewhere far away from Lisa. He couldn't describe it. He slowly got used to his role as Eddie's wife. His strong hands, tenderly taking hold of Waylon's, his blue eyes looking at him so firmly yet so softly.

Maybe it was compassion, maybe it was …

"I want to apologize for what happened yesterday," Eddie suddenly said without turning his head. Waylon smiled. "I get it, you're sorry. Again, you really don't have to …" – "No, I mean …"

He looked straight ahead, trying to avoid Waylon's gaze. His grip got firmer. "I, I can't apologize enough for hitting you just because you were afraid of me, but … I want to say … I'm sorry for crying in front of you. I'm really ashamed by this, for a woman should never see her man's tears."

"Huh? Why?" Waylon asked, thinking about the many times he had cried in front of Lisa.

"It's just the way it is, darling. A woman tends to express her emotions more easily and more intensively than a man, simple as that, so it's the man's task to play the rational role."

Waylon sighed. "Uh, I suppose so." Classic Gluskin. So stupid it was adorable again.

Eddie stretched and cracked his neck, rubbing his eyes. He was exhausted and Waylon wanted to ask him why it was always him driving, but before doing so, he already knew the answer. 'A woman should be chauffeured. She shouldn't drive herself. That's the man's task, darling.' Waylon sniffed. Misogynist idiot. Waylon hated the fact that he started to like him.

Two hours passed; two hours in which Waylon had fumbled on the car's instrumental panel and had discovered the car's radio and shortly afterwards, he had caught himself singing along with Rascal Flatt's "Life is a Highway".

"You, uhm, you sound like Judy Garland, darling," Eddie said awkwardly after Waylon had finished Carl Carlton's "She's a Bad Mama Jama". Waylon laughed, taking it as a compliment; Eddie seemed to be stuck in the Fifties.

"Don't get me wrong, I love old music like The Beatles and The Who, but … never heard of, I don't know, Katy Perry? Rihanna? Uhm … Britney Spears? Shakira?" Since Waylon didn't listen to any of them, he named some favorite singers of Lisa, but Eddie actually didn't know one single name.

"That's okay," Waylon laughed, "you probably didn't miss that much, I don't know." – "I know only one song by heart," Eddie thought. Waylon sighed. Yeah, we both know which one. I start to know that song by heart as well.

Slowly, their environment began to change and Eddie started to talk less though they had laughed a lot together the last few hours. Waylon didn't dare to ask if he was okay. Long, never ending roads turned to small villages with withered front gardens. The houses' plaster crumbled and revealed dirty walls. Some dogs were crossing the narrow street without paying attention and the car was jolting over the potholes of the street. The acrid smell of tar rose to Waylon's nose. This village didn't even seem to be busy anymore besides the dogs and some strangers watching the jeep struggling to stay on the narrow, hilly streets.

"Do you recognize this place?" Waylon asked carefully. Eddie inhaled deeply, looking around hesitantly. His eyebrows twitched, but he didn't say a word. He just stared at the people, stared at the forgotten houses. Suddenly, he stopped the car and got out, telling Waylon to wait there. He could see him walking down the road, quickly turning his head as he was eager to find something he hadn't discovered yet. Father away, Waylon could see some people approaching, and despite Eddie's orders he got out off the car.

"Eddie," he said, slowly walking towards him, "are you feeling okay?" He grabbed his hand, but Eddie didn't react.

"I don't know," he said, desperately looking around, placing his hand on the backside of his head, "I … I don't know. I think I know this place but … I'm not sure."

"Did you grow up here?" Waylon asked looking at his troubled face. – "No, not here. Our house … it's the only memory I still have. But … it's not far away."

Suddenly, the strangers came closer, and Waylon could feel himself holding Eddie's hand more tightly, and he was happy to notice that Eddie did the same. After a few seconds passed, Waylon was able to tell who these people were. Nothing more than five elder people, including two women. Waylon looked up to Eddie who was awaiting them with keen attention. His whole body was stained.

"Whoever you are," one of the elder women said, carefully approaching them, "please don't hurt us. There's nothing precious here in this small village. We're just simple farmers. Whatever you want, take it."

"Oh no," Waylon corrected her as he got a bad coincidence, thinking about having frightened the elder people, "we're just passing through!"

The woman nodded relieved, confusedly gazing at Waylon's dress, like the others. She was just about to wish them a safe journey when suddenly the other woman stepped out, slowly approaching the two men. Suddenly, Eddie's grip became firmer.

"Eddie? What's the matter?" Waylon whispered, but again, Eddie didn't react. All he did was staring at the oldest member of the group. She looked like she was half blind, and slim grey hair was laying on her shoulders. Suddenly, she opened her mouth.

"These eyes," she said as she supported herself on a walking stick, barely able to stand, "I know these eyes."

"Martha, it's ok," the other woman said quickly, carefully talking her and pulling her away from Eddie, "have … have a safe journey."

"Uh, thank you! We'll just …" Waylon forgot to finish his sentence as Eddie grabbed his arm and harshly pulled him to the car.

He stumbled on the car seat, barely able to fasten his seat belt as he Eddie suddenly drove off. Waylon swallowed. This woman seemed to recognize Eddie.

"Eddie, do you know her, too?" Waylon asked eagerly, but he didn't receive an answer. Waylon didn't know what was going on anymore.

"Eddie, do …" – "No I don't," Eddie said. He looked like he was thinking intensively, desperately trying to figure this out, to solve this puzzle of his past, but right now none of them had an answer.

"Close … I can," he said frowning, searching for the right words, "we're close. So many faces … I feel like my memory starts to, I don't know, to crumble. This woman seemed to have seen me before, but I don't know her. Why don't I know her? Lynn, everything's so … I don't feel like a hole person anymore. Did the therapy made me feel that way?"

Waylon silenced. Since he had been confronted with everything concerning the Project Walrider, but hadn't really cared a lot about it, he didn't know that much about it. Still, one of the few things he hadn't forgotten about (due to pure ignorance) was the loss of memory a lot of patients had suffered from. But they had regained it shortly afterwards, about 12 hours. It was at least about four weeks ago since Eddie's hormone therapy had started, because they always needed to wait a month until they could start the tubing. Given that fact, it was unlikely that the pills had caused his amnesia.

"So, what's the last thing you remember clearly? The last thing you could swear it did happen?"

Eddie's look was bitter. "Waking up in Mount Massive." Oh boy, they had a lot to rediscover in this house. Waylon hoped it still existed.

"Are you sure we're still driving in the wrong direction, Eddie?" Waylon asked after fifteen minutes of driving on a long road. Eddie nodded firmly. – "We're almost there, I can feel it."

Waylon sighed. Eddie had kept saying that for the last ten minutes.

"Maybe we should turn and ask some of the villagers, I don't know," the blond sighed as he looked at the huge cornfields surrounding them. It was a hot day, a bit too hot for September. They were driving up a small hill, the air was glowing.

"Come on, Eddie, I doubt that your house is standing in the middle of nowhere, we should really …" – "There," Eddie suddenly said, "there it is."

Then, Waylon spotted a tiny farmhouse standing next to another giant cornfield, far away from any other house. After a few seconds he could take a closer look; there was a silo standing somewhere near the house, and a tall, slim windmill. There seemed to be a coop and a stable, too, but Waylon doubted that they would see just one animal besides some rats. Because this house looked like it hadn't gotten any visitors since ages.

Eddie stopped the car. Waylon could see the strain in his eyes. How was it like to feel that way? To know that the whole truth of your memory was about to be revealed, knowing that at least half of it was eventually different from what you thought you would remember?

Both of the men were staring on the abandoned house. It looked a bit odd; like something weighed heavily on it. A dark cloud was piling up behind its roof. Waylon sniffed. So stereotyped. Looks like fun to me.

Waylon blushed as he was waiting for Eddie opening the door for him just like he had insisted since the first time getting off the car. The air was sultry and stale. Just when Waylon was about to go, he noticed Eddie standing there, apathetically staring at the house.

He inhaled deeply. "I don't want to go there, darling," Eddie suddenly whispered, grabbing Waylon's hand. Though he had done worse to him, Waylon still blushed. Seeing this frightened man standing next to him and comparing him to the man who had chased him in the asylum, wanting to kill and/or castrate him, was weird and hard to believe. And Waylon calming him and coaxing him gently was even weirder.

"You will and I'll be on your side," Waylon said as he caressed Eddie's cheek, moving his head to the right until his blue eyes were facing Waylon's. "And whatever happens in there, I will," Waylon paused, inhaling deeply, "I'll be there."

This man needs me. This man needs me. The man who has saved my life several times … this man needs me. That's the only reason I'm still doing this, right? Right, Lisa?

"I love you, Lynn," Eddie whispered, "what did I do to deserve you?" Waylon laughed, but it was more of a sigh than a laugh. "Chasing me through the asylum and wanting to kill me," Waylon answered. They both laughed tiredly, and Eddie looked at him tenderly as he got closer to him. Waylon looked up to the tall man who softly rested his chin on Waylon's head, holding him tight. Waylon wrapped his arms around Eddie's tall back, burying his face in his chest.

Everything was so quiet, and with Eddie gently rubbing his nape, Waylon felt something like an inward peace. For this moment, the world stayed still. The first time since many days Waylon was able to rest.

"I'm sorry for chasing you. But, well, you know how a man gets when he wants to know a woman, don't you, darling?" Eddie smiled tiredly. – "Yeah, I do," Waylon responded quietly, feeling something going on in his stomach. Why did this man keep on setting off these kind of sentiments in him? This tall man whose head almost touched the roof of the car when driving, the man with the damaged face and the blood on his hands, the man who gave "dark circles around the eyes" a whole new meaning … the man who was convinced that his equals could be fixed, made into "honest women".

Am I now insane as well? Did the Morphogenetic Engine change me that much, Lisa?

Their eyes met and Waylon looked into a blue pool of desperation, uncertainty and helplessness. Suddenly, without thinking about it too much, Waylon stood on tiptoe and kissed Eddie. He reacted immediately and tightened his embrace, passionately returning the kiss.

This feeling. Why am I feeling so … what about Lisa?

"I love you so much," Eddie whispered in a shaky voice quavering with emotion as he raked his fingers through Waylon's hair. – "I love you, too," Waylon said breathlessly as he noticed himself reply a bit too quickly. This time saying it felt … different. But Waylon didn't dare to keep thinking about that.

Waylon lifted his hand and stroked Eddie's head, feeling his short hair under his fingers and Eddie's lips on his. Then his hand traveled to Eddie's cheek, brushing against his wounds but this time, Waylon neither shivered nor pulled back his hand. Shortly after, Waylon felt Eddie's hand covering his as he slowly lead it glide over the rest of his skin peelings and blisters. His skin was rough and warm and Waylon smiled as Eddie kissed his fingers that had traveled to his swollen, busted lips.

"It's ok, everything's ok," Waylon said calmly, and Eddie smiled gently.

One last touch and slowly, Eddie's lips left Waylon's and both of them smiled silently, having the eyes shut and leaning their foreheads against each other's with their lips barely touching. Waylon could hear him breathing quietly and regularly which relaxed him in a way he couldn't really describe. Every touch, every sound was so intense in this very moment, making Waylon shiver and his heart race.

He swallowed. "Are we going to … going to have a look?" he whispered and he could see Eddie's bright eyes opening.

"We are, gorgeous." Waylon nodded, softly blushing because of Eddie's last word.

He looked around. They were literally standing in the middle of a road, surrounded by nothing but cornfields. But they looked withered and not the ones cornfields which were still used. Eddie didn't look as frightened as he had looked before and Waylon felt a bit more relieved. If it really had been 30 years since Eddie had seen this place … Waylon could image how Eddie was feeling. The windmill sails were rotating slowly, creating an unpleasant squealing. It felt weird, standing in front of the dilapidated house, seeing its broken windows and their dirty, grey curtains that probably used to be white. There was a dog kennel and a broken chain somewhere near the tiny fence, surrounding the house, but it didn't look like it was, well, inhabited. A few bushes that were dried out, standing in an overgrown garden. Waylon felt like his theory of the house being vacant got confirmed more and more. They were walking towards the entrance. Something was written on the tall door, but Waylon could't read it; it seemed like some words sprayed on the upper half, but the red color had paled.

"Shelly," Eddie suddenly said, staring at the kennel, "Shelly … she was my dog. I owned a dog named Shelly. She was a … Golden Retriever."

"Huh?" Waylon asked surprisedly. "You … you start to remember!"

"Yeah, looks that way," Eddie said, confused about himself. "But I don't know how she died and everything, I just … barely remember her being on my side. She barked a lot."

Waylon nodded lost in thought and since the door was locked, Eddie tried to kick it in, remembering Waylon of the times he had spent the asylum, being chased and everything. There was this premonition he had concerning this house. What was awaiting them? Which secrets were be hidden in the darkest corners of its rooms? There was only one thing Waylon knew: Eddie would begin to remember, no matter what would happen. But … was that really a good thing?

"It's open," Eddie said after a loud crash as he stepped aside, "ladies first, darling."


	8. Shapeless Memories

Shapeless Memories

Waylon entered the house, coughing because of the old dust getting swirled up. They were standing in a dark room; the light reminded him of Eddie's sewing room in Mount Massive. Little beams of light were shining through torn white curtains and broken windows. The air was dry and it smelled kind of rotted. Apparently, they were standing in the living room. There was an old TV somewhere in one corner and a dirty, old red sofa in front of it. The round carpet was soiled and it looked like someone had walked on it with dirty shoes or something. At least there wasn't any blood, but still, Waylon didn't feel safe. In fact, this house appeared like a ghost house, somehow haunted. There was a huge table standing in the middle of the room; a chandelier (who looked a bit fake) above it. Getting closer to the fireplace, Waylon noticed wood laying somewhere, which he found a bit odd.

He wasn't sure but … it somehow appeared like somebody had needed to get out of here real quick.

"This is where," he heard Eddie say excitedly, "where … where we used to watch football and baseball! There was this show I used to watch all the time, it was called leave, leave … Leave it to Beaver! Father and me, sitting on his lap." He pointed at the sofa and the TV. Waylon could've kind of guessed that, but still, he nodded, scrutinizing Eddie with interest. He was touching and observing everything he could find, picking up the most random stuff like a remote control, a yellow vase, a watering can and some dusty books.

"Cookbooks!" he said, looking to Waylon as he expected him to reply. But Waylon didn't know what to say, since watching Eddie's eyes widen as soon as he had found another thing he slowly started to remember was so much more interesting.

"Her meals were delicious," Eddie said sleepily, gently stroking the cover, "no surprise; so many books. One day you will be making dinner for everybody of our little family, darling." Eddie smiled and Waylon cautiously returned it.

"This scent. One second I think it smells familiar and then … I can't recognize it. Such a weird feeling. This is so unreal. I never thought of returning home one day. Oh god, I," Eddie got quieter as he desperately stared at everything standing in the room, "I, I barely recognize anything. This sofa; I don't remember having a sofa! Or this chandelier … I don't know. Standing here, smelling the old scent of my home. I remembered the address, remembered mother cooking and teaching me how to sew and everything, but now that I'm here, everything's so strange and unfamiliar."

"Never mind," Waylon said, trying to comfort Eddie who was visibly distraught, "as soon as you get used to it and maybe see some other rooms, I'm sure you will remember everything."

Eddie nodded carefully as he grabbed Waylon's hand, passing the kitchen that was unsuspicious (apart from the excessively rotten apple) and climbing the stairs. They were old and groaned as the men stepped on them, making Waylon fear that it would break at some point. There weren't a lot photos. While climbing the stairs, Waylon could spot three of them, one showed a woman and a man, standing next to each other, staring at the camera. The woman, it probably was Eddie's mother, had bright eyes as well, and cute curly hair. She looked good, somehow, even though she didn't smile.

"You don't have any siblings, do you?" Waylon asked. Eddie shook his head. However, Waylon kept on noticing a second boy on the photos who didn't look like Eddie.

"Aw, is that you?" Waylon asked as he showed Eddie a photo of a young boy, hugging another one from behind. Both boys were grinning in the camera and one of them could've been Eddie. He actually looked cute in the tender age of maybe seven or eight. Short, curly hair – like his mother's one – was covering the head and there were some freckles under his bright eyes and on his snub nose. Seeing him without the wounds and with a normal haircut and everything was … so weird.

"I'm not gonna lie, you looked adorable," Waylon said honestly. Maybe his twins would look like that some day. – "Thank you, darling," Eddie replied, not even looking on the photo but holding the one with his mother on it in his hands. Waylon carefully looked up to Eddie, seeing his distorted face as he was scrutinizing the photo.

"The other man with the brown hair and the lumberjack shirt, that's your father, right? Now we know where you got your tall and powerful stature from," Waylon chuckled, but Eddie didn't say a word, in fact he stared at the photo as he wanted to enforce something. He desperately furrowed his brows.

"Hey Eddie, what's wrong? Do you remember anything … bad?" Waylon asked, carefully placing his hand on Eddie's shoulder. Suddenly, he looked at him, and Waylon could see the pain in his eyes.

"I," he swallowed tearfully, "I don't remember this woman. I could've sworn that she had green eyes like yours. And she was brunette – I remember her being blonde!"

"Uh, well," Waylon smiled awkwardly, "maybe she dyed her hair, we don't know." Eddie wasn't really sure about that, and Waylon actually wasn't himself.

He kept on looking at the other photos as Eddie went on ahead. There was one photo Waylon liked; it showed Eddie and his mother. She was holding him on her lap and it seemed like Eddie was barely able to stand back then. He laughed with chubby cheeks and dimples, making Waylon's heart skip a beat. Waylon continued searching for photos but … there weren't any other ones. The only things Waylon found were some portraits. One thing he noticed was Eddie's mother never smiling on any of them. In fact, the photos with Eddie were the only ones.

"Darling! Darling, come over here!" Eddie said, beckoning Waylon over to him. Waylon fought his way through the spider's webs, which he didn't care about since he already had gotten used to them thanks to Mount Massive.

"I remember this room, it was my children's room," Eddie said excitedly. – "So you do remember," Waylon smiled, "see, you're about to regain your memory."

"But … I doesn't feel right. Something seems odd," he said, examining the desk. There were some old comics of Donald Duck next to the record Please Please Me by the Beatles, which was Waylon's favorite one, too, and some pens laying around. The room was very small; there was a tiny bed, carelessly placed in a corner. It kind of didn't look like a sixteen year old could've slept comfortably in it. The wallpaper was beige, but Waylon wasn't sure if the actual color had been white. Apart from a red record player and a radio next to it, the room was kind of empty.

"Look, Eddie," Waylon suddenly said, trundling out another record, "this is the song you're always whistling, isn't it?" Eddie's eyes widened as he noticed Waylon holding the blue record with the woman on it. He snatched it out of Waylon's hand, staring at it.

"Yes, it is! I always thought the radio was broken, since it only played one song in a row but … now that you say it, I could've brought it with me." Waylon chuckled, "Yes, perhaps."

"… Eddie?" Waylon asked after a few seconds had passed. He looked up and Waylon asked a question buzzing in his head for a long time. "What happened to your parents? Where are they?"

Eddie sighed, "I don't know. I've already thought about that as well. They're alive … I think. But I don't remember leaving nor seeing them leave. … I don't remember anything. Fuck, I really … I really thought I would instantly remember everything. Mother, father, Shelly. I remember about ten percent and that's it. Even the scent … there's this one smell but … I feel like a stranger. Why is this happening to me? Why can't I make it stop?"

"There now," Waylon said tenderly, wrapping his arms around Eddie as he desperately held the back of his head, "you will remember. I promise. Give your body some time to get used to it."

"I, I don't know what else I can do. I'm a bad son for forgetting them. Mother … and dad. How could I ban them from my memory? Why is that happening to me? I do … I do have to remember," he stuttered despite trying to control his voice, hugging Waylon as well. Waylon nodded compassionately, feeling sorry for Eddie. He really seemed to have forgotten everything, not being able to completely regain his memory. What did that feel like?

"I think I'll need some time, feel free to go ahead, darling," Eddie said, tiredly looking at the only photo standing in the room, and Waylon could hear him wonder who that boy might've been. He had been a friend of Eddie, Waylon guessed, that meant he really didn't remember anything.

Waylon went down the narrow corridor. He was right. There was something about this house that wasn't right. Something seemed … odd. Incomplete. Where were Eddie's parents? It seemed like they had vanished off the face of the earth. Mommy and Daddy who had loved themselves so passionately, his mother who had taught him sewing, his father who had watched football with him … and the son who didn't remember anything.

This could't be everything. Something was wrong. But which part?

The next room Waylon entered was probably the parent's bedroom. It looked a bit creepy – spider's webs hanging from the ceiling and an unmade double bed, standing under a golden cross. So apparently, Eddie's parents were Christians. Obviously the light switch didn't work and since the window was nailed up, he could hardly recognize anything but the cross and some paintings of Jesus.

Wait, what?

Waylon got a closer look of the planks covering the window. He gasped. Holy shit. Why would anyone do that? His knees started to shake as he felt an oppressive feeling looming in his body. Why didn't he have his camcorder or a flashlight? He carefully got closer and lifted the bed, but since the room was completely dark, the only thing he noticed was an acrid smell coming from the bed. He shrank away and stumbled out off the room, carefully closing the door behind him.

He was right. There was something entirely wrong and Waylon would yield up a last secret.

There were two doors left apart from a high, rusty balcony, and one especially attracted his attention. It had a huge crack but it still was kind of intact since Waylon tried to open it. It was locked. It looked like somebody had already tried to open it without success.

Since Waylon wasn't able to explore this room, he could only enter the other one which turned out to be the bathroom. It was very light and the walls and the floor were covered with yellow tiles; some of them were broken. While thinking about Eddie and wondering if he now remembered his friend, he heard him ripping open the drawers. He seemed to have come across something.

Seeing this small bathroom and the dirty toilet, the tiny, furred up shower and the measly washbasin, Waylon could understand why Eddie got fucked up; nobody would be able to grow up here without any collateral damage. Waylon shook his head. The house had looked so big and if he hadn't entered it, he would've thought the Gluskin's had earned an average wage. There was only one type of bathroom that Waylon wouldn't have preferred: the ones of Mount Massive. Thinking about the toilets made Waylon's stomach turn.

He was just about to leave the room and look for Eddie, as he suddenly saw something flash for a second. Being chased through the asylum and permanently searching for batteries had sharpened his instincts. He stopped and looked around the room until he saw a broken tire under the toilet. It was hidden and very small and Waylon wouldn't have noticed it without the tiny piece of metal looking out. He slowly approached the toilet and kneeled down, grabbing it.

A key. Of course. And Waylon knew exactly which door it was for.

He felt his heart racing as he looked into Eddie's direction, seeing him staring at a photo, before he quietly inserted the key into the lock. It fitted. Waylon swallowed as he carefully opened the door; whatever he would find in this room … it would explain everything. He shivered … but how would Eddie react finding out nothing more than what really happened?

The room was dark, too, and – what a surprise! – its window was nailed up as well, making it difficult for Waylon to see. The room he was standing in looked like a tiny study. It probably belonged to Eddie's father. The only furniture Waylon could see were two shelves full of stuff like books and records. Then a desk and a chair. But why would Eddie's father lock this room? It was dark apart from a few beams of light making their way through the planks in front of the window. Waylon got closer to the desk, expecting something laying or standing on it, but there was nothing but a few things which weren't really suspicious. Some pens, a telephone that didn't look like it would work, some glue, a globe, a lamp and scissors. And dust; dust everywhere.

Waylon's eyes started to adapt the darkness and with the help of the light ray he managed to examine the shelves. Books about agriculture, about farming and harvesting, how to breed horses and chickens (so Waylon had been right); everything about harvesting. Sometimes a cookbook that has gotten lost in here or a sewing book, partly very old. Then a wedding photo and some old drawings made by Eddie, one showed him and his father standing next to each other and one showed Eddie and his mother in a pretty dress (even though she was as tall as he was), smiling.

Nothing suspicious. Waylon didn't know how to feel; one part of him was relieved that there wasn't something like a corpse laying somewhere, and the other part was disappointed and confused. Why locking the door and nailing up the windows if there wasn't anything important?

No. The answer was hidden somewhere in his room, and since Eddie didn't say a sound and Waylon didn't hear any footsteps, he kept on searching. Again, the desk. Pens, telephone, glue, globe, lamp, scissors. … Glue?

Waylon searched for something that was pasted up but he couldn't find anything. No hidden corridor behind the shelves, nothing under the tiny carpet. Maybe, whoever had hidden this, had been in a hurry? Where would you hide something if you'd need to do it fast? Waylon looked at the desk and noticed a drawer. He tried to open it but it was locked. No, he thought before deciding to give up since the key could've been everywhere, it's not locked. Waylon could feel the dried glue pouring out of the drawer; then he took the scissors and carefully broke it open. It took him a few minutes, always trying to do it as quietly as possible, and he held his breath as the wood bursted and he managed to open the drawer.

And Waylon swallowed again as he dared to take a look inside.


	9. Him

Him

The first thing Waylon took out was something made of cloth. He didn't know what it was until he spread it out. It was a handmade dress, too big for a doll but too small for a woman. A dress for a little girl; pink with cute frills. It was really pretty and little flowers adorned the hem and it had cute, little puffed sleeves like Waylon's wedding dress. But it was crooked, and the threads were looking out, so it was nothing to write home about. Unless … a kid made it. But why would you hide something like that?

After putting it down, he reached into the drawer again and he grabbed some documents, and he barely could read the name "Gluskin" when he suddenly heard Eddie yelling his name.

"Lynn! Lynn, where are you, darling?" His voice sounded strange, and Waylon held his breath as he read the title of the piece of paper he was holding, hoping that Eddie would't find him now.

Death report of Mrs. Gluskin, he read in a rush as he skimmed through the document, born in Madison, Wisconsin, youngest of three daughters, orthodox Christian. He startled up as he heard Eddie's footsteps approaching him. Poor Eddie – did he know that his mother was already dead? Why had her file been locked up? Could … could it be? The father locking up the file because he couldn't deal with her death since he loved her so much?

Lynn Gluskin (neé Lehrke), tailor, died on 27th August… Waylon smiled resignedly. This was why Eddie had decided to call him Lynn. It wasn't the strange nickname of Waylon – it was his mother's name he apparently couldn't remember, but his head somehow couldn't forget entirely. This is what Waylon called mother love. Their bond must've been strong, but this fitted Eddie's stories. As a tailor, she surely had been skilled. Maybe Eddie didn't remember her death, too? Losing her was probably so painful that he rather didn't remember anything.

Then, he saw it. The thing he had waited for. Mrs. Gluskin died on 27th August … 1949. "What …?" Waylon whispered as he tried to understand what he had just read. She died when Eddie was … almost three years old.

"It was impossible to teach him sewing and cooking for him since … she was already dead," Waylon breathlessly looked at the door, hoping Eddie not to find him here as he tried to think straight, "meaning Eddie … made everything up." This is why Eddie's memories were false, concerning her hair color and everything. No surprise if the only moments he had really seen her stopped in the age of three.

He quickly continued reading as he noticed a handwritten note attached to the report. It had been written by a psychologist, Waylon guessed, and the writing was barely legible.

The autopsy revealed fractured rips, broken foot (left). Several bruises on hips, back of her head, breasts; eyes slightly bloodshot. Husband (T. Gluskin) says "she fell down the stairs". → Fits injuries. Bruises → domestic violence?

The rest was ripped off. Waylon couldn't believe what he was reading. Not only didn't Eddie really know his mother … she apparently had been married to an abusive husband as well! So much for their perfect relationship.

"Fell down the stairs," Waylon repeated thoughtfully as he shivered. What had this man done? Had she really just fallen down the stairs? Had it really been "just" an accident? But still – why did Eddie need to create his own illusion of his mother? People didn't just do that, there was a reason he needed to imagine his mother. And the real question: Where was his father now?

The next paragraphs answered his questions in detail. It was an excerpt of a juridical document; it looked like a charge. Waylon knew that because Murkoff had gotten charged a lot of times. Theodore Gluskin, born in La Crosse, Wisconsin, unemployed, orthodox Christian. … Accused of raping and abusing his only son, Eddie Theodore Gluskin, until the age of 16.

Waylon gasped as he went weak at the knees. Raped by his own father? Now everything made sense. "Help! Help me! Help me, they're going to rape me! Rape! Rape!" flashed to Waylon's mind as he suddenly remembered Eddie begging for help in the Underground Lab. This is why Eddie always said something had been "wrong" – it was this part of his memory, which shone through all the lies he had told himself, the lies his mind had made up because the thought of it was unbearable, the memories were too painful to admit. Poor Eddie, Waylon couldn't describe how sorry he was for him.

He wanted to put the documents back in the drawer, when he noticed that there was more. Another note of a psychologist or doctor, maybe the same one. He tried to figure out what was written there, since the ink had paled … already behaved conspicuously in the past according to witnesses … bothering little girls (6 recorded cases) … provocatively calls his son a "she" → after arrest, too … emotionally unstable, denies the fact that he has raped E. → keep sight of.

That a sick bastard! Eddie hadn't been the only child. This was making him sick, how could your own father do this to you?! How insane did he have to be? … He had called Eddie a "she". Waylon hesitated. This sounded familiar – for Eddie, Waylon was still Lynn. Lynn, his mother's name. What did all of that mean? All these facts must've been connected to each other, but Waylon couldn't find out in which way.

Son (16) distraught, immediately needs professional help … bruises on his arm, neck, lower abdomen and jaw … mother somehow incurred E.'s hatred, refuses to talk about her, insults her … talks a lot about "Ashley" → boy or girl? … tends to say things he thinks we want to hear … many dresses are found → handmade. His? For whom? → self-taught. … father raped him since he was 6 → age is identity-forming … disturbed role allocation can't be ruled out … develops misogynist traits → needs to be observed.

Oh my god. Waylon put his hand in front of his mouth, trying not to make a sound. This dress has been made by Eddie among other ones and his father … Waylon couldn't believe what had happened to Eddie. Ten years of rape, ten years of pain, abuse, degradation. And ten years of being a "she". One thing made Waylon begin to wonder: "disturbed role allocation" – what did the psychologist intend to say?

Wherever his father was (probably in jail), he somehow got the feeling that it wasn't him hiding these documents. He rather thought that it was Eddie himself. Hiding the evidences before running away. But still … so many questions hadn't been answered! Why didn't Eddie "only" repress his memories? Why did he also think men that could be "fixed" and made into women? Why did he think that Waylon was the perfect wife? And what about real women? Why did he kill two women before being committed to Mount Massive? That didn't make sense!

Suddenly, Waylon heard footsteps and his palms got sweaty as he quickly tried to hide the documents.

"Darling, what are you doing here?" Eddie asked dangerously, suddenly standing in front of Waylon.

"Nothing," he lied quickly, exiting the room, but he couldn't deceive Eddie. He grabbed the document.

"What's that?" he asked, trying to figure out what was written on it. Waylon swallowed as he looked at the tall man, seeing his eyes glitter alarmingly. But Waylon couldn't say a word; the only thing he could do was staring at Eddie's face, trying to predict when he was about to snap and when Waylon needed to run away. Again.

"Ha! You women are all the same," he said in a biting tone, crumbling up the note and throwing it in the corner as he slowly approached Waylon, "a bit too curious for my taste, sticking your tiny nose into everything and believing anything. Just like my mother, who never knew where to stop."

Eddie started to insult him again and make things up. That meant he slowly got insecure, so perhaps Waylon had hit a nerve. After all, the Peeping Tom was his role, and so far, he had survived all of Eddie's outbursts … so fuck it. Eddie wanted help – this was exactly what he was about go get.

"It's impossible for you to talk about your mother like that, Eddie," Waylon said as firmly as he could, almost peeing his pants. Eddie laughed strangely, with an angry undertone. "Why? Because I'm her son and I shouldn't judge her?"

"No," Waylon inhaled deeply as he said the next words, "because you almost don't know her since she died when you were three."

Eddie stared at him steadfastly. "What the hell are you babbling about? What do you know!" he yelled. "My mother has always been there for me, cooking and teaching me sewing. She always wore her self-made dresses and danced with my father in the living room. What kind of daughter-in-law are you to say these things? To tell me that she died 43 years ago?"

Eddie, Waylon thought, what the hell is wrong with you?! You got it in black and white and still, you refuse to accept it. Eddie either was much more stubborn than Waylon had thought or he had some mad acting skills.

Suddenly, Waylon noticed Eddie holding a picture as he was backwards exiting the room. As they were standing in the light corridor, he could see what the picture showed: two boys laughing together. Waylon understood. Eddie couldn't fool him any longer.

"Is that … Ashley?" he asked. "Your friend?" Eddie's face lightened up a bit.

"Yeah, we used to stray around and play football in the garden." Football! Eddie and his football. Waylon doubted Eddie had ever played football with anyone: neither with Ashley nor with his father.

Waylon inhaled deeply. Eddie didn't want to remember, but he needed to if he wanted to be sane one day. Why was he about to do that? Why was Waylon about to risk his life again? Did he really just want to help Eddie?

"I don't believe you," he said firmly. "You've never played football with anyone." – "What did you just say?" Eddie yelled, pushing Waylon aside. Waylon swallowed. Shit, shit, shit. Now there was no going back.

"It was you, right? You've hidden the documents and nailed up the windows." – "I don't know what you're trying so say," Eddie replied and Waylon's knees started to knock as the tall man leaned over to him, "but let me tell you one thing: whatever you've read there, every single word is wrong. Nobody! Nobody seems to understand that. But you do, don't you, darling? You understand that." He was giving him a second chance; a chance to revise his statements. But they had made it that far … Waylon wouldn't allow Eddie to wreck all of his efforts. He didn't break his leg and wore a dress for nothing, and he wouldn't drive home with him as a woman. Over his dead body. Eddie had to accept reality … if it was the last thing Waylon would ever do.

"We both know it, Eddie!" Waylon yelled. "I do and part of you does, too. I'm not gonna stand this any longer. I know it's not pleasant, but you have to remember! You can't remember your mother's eye color because she fucking died when you were a toddler and your father never played football with you because he was too busy bothering little girls and raping you when you were younger! Fuck! When will you finally face it?!"

Waylon held his breath as he stared at Eddie. One second he though that Eddie was about to remember … but he was wrong.

"Looks like I was mistaken about you," Eddie said calmly, but Waylon could see he was trying to repress his rage, "you're just like these men. You think you can fool me, manipulate me into believing your lies, but this won't work out. I thought you were different. I always knew you were one of them, but I tried hard to believe you, saying you weren't. I was so stupid, blinded by love. You … you had decided to let me down when I was begging for your help."

Waylon felt the hot, burning shame on his back, crawling to his neck and wetting it. Shit. Eddie had always known.

"You're worse than every woman I've ever met, worse than all these whores. You … you don't deserve my children, and you don't deserve my love," he yelled as he punched Waylon in the face – again –, but this time, it was way more painful.

"Argh! N-No, Eddie, you must remember …" Waylon stuttered before he felt Eddie's fist on his cheekbone.

"How dare you judge him like that? My father was an upright man and he would never do things like this to me. You have no idea! Women like you give me cancer. All of you want to hurt me … and use me."

One punch on his lips and one, two, three punches on his head.

"No, no, Eddie p-please stop," Waylon begged with tears flooding in his eyes as he tried to protect his face with his arms, "I … I can help you! It's okay! Just, just trust me!"

Was it really that painful? Were Eddie's delusions really that deeply ingrained? Even though his face felt like it was on fire, and even though he started to get a blurred vision, Waylon couldn't feel anything but sorry for Eddie as he looked into his eyes and felt his shaking fists, desperately trying to shut Waylon down.

"Eddie, please, I … I'm your wife, so please let me help you," he whimpered, desperately trying to convince Eddie as he intended to suffocate him.

"Shut your mouth!" Eddie yelled and Waylon felt his strong hands strangling him.

"Eddie, no, p-please … at least trust me, I … I love you," Waylon whispered, struggling to breath, as he helplessly cupped Eddie's cheeks in order to kiss him, hoping him to let him go that way, when suddenly Eddie's face froze. He stared at Waylon's eyes as his grip loosened up. Waylon stared back; not daring to move. What the hell was happening right now!?

"Eddie …?" Waylon asked quietly, not understanding what had happened to him. "Eddie, are you–"

"No … no, no," Eddie whispered horrifiedly and his eyes widened. "No, not again, no, don't … don't do that!" Eddie cried as he quickly stepped back and tripped over the carpet, making Waylon, who was holding his arms, fall over him. They both slammed on the floor, causing a crashing noise from the old wooden floor.

"Oh, shit, Eddie, are you …" But Waylon fell silent as he saw Eddie laying under him. Never had he seen something like this.

"No, no, don't hurt me! I don't want … get away from me, no!" he cried, shouting his head off as he tried to cover his face with his arms.

"What?! Eddie …! Eddie, it's me, uh, L-Lynn! It's Lynn! Everything's gonna be okay! Eddie! I'm here!" Waylon screamed, trying to evade Eddie's arms he was waving wildly. What the hell was going on? Eddie was in the middle of some strange delusion.

"E-Eddie, ugh," Waylon said as he got slapped in the face, "Eddie, just … just calm down! It's alright! I'm here! I'm here!" – "No, no! That hurts! That … I-I hate you! No, please, stop! That hurts!" Eddie screamed as he bursted into tears.

"Eddie, please, I won't hurt you," Waylon said quickly as he tried to catch Eddie's hands. – "No, no, not again," Eddie sobbed as he covered his face with his hands and turned aside, quietly whimpering.

"Eddie …" Waylon whispered calmly as his hands traveled to Eddie's, carefully taking them off his face. His tears had wetted his gloves. Waylon saw Eddie closing his eyes tightly, shaking all over.

"It's alright," Waylon said softly as he wiped his tears from Eddie's eyes and cheeks, "look at me, Eddie." A few seconds passed; Waylon could hear Eddie breath more and more regularly, seeing his wet lips shake. Shit, his whole face hurt like hell. Eddie could've been a boxer, too.

Then he opened his wet eyes, and suddenly, seeing him laying under him crying, broke Waylon's heart. Slowly, Eddie got calm, and blue eyes stared at Waylon.

"It's me, Lynn," Waylon said quietly as he stroked Eddie's cheek, "I'm here, you're safe."

"Lynn …" Eddie whispered, still in shock. – "Yeah, Lynn," Waylon smiled. Eddie stared at him in a mixture of fear and relief, and Waylon wiped the last tear from Eddie's cheek, caressing his face.

"It's me," he whispered as he kissed Eddie tenderly, who was paralyzed with shock. And now Waylon knew what had been going on. At this very moment, it wasn't the 46-year-old insane groom, Gluskin or "the thing below", who was laying under Waylon, but the six-year-old Eddie.

"It's me," Waylon said as he stroked Eddie's cheek, "not your father."


	10. His Name is Waylon

His Name is Waylon

"He caught us," Eddie said monotonously, after they had sat down side by side on the stairs, "he had seen me with a dress I had made by myself. God, now I remember everything. Ashley had … On this day, Ashley had kissed me the first time. We had always tried to hide it from him, but this time, we … I don't know, we were too careless."

"Hide it?" Waylon asked quietly. Eddie apathetically stared on his shoes, "Well, hide that we were in love. We didn't stray around and stuff. I don't know why I've said that. … We danced in the living room, because my dad was out of town. At least this is what we thought. He came back earlier this day. … He …"

Eddie stopped, inhaling deeply. Waylon wanted to hold his hand, seeing his distorted face, but he didn't dare to.

"He saw us, grabbed Ashley and shoved him on the ground. Then he beat the shit out of me. He said … he said 'You look like a slut in that dress, so I guess you want to be treated like one.' Then he punched Ashley in the face and he ran. I can hardly blame him for that, I guess. Father used to say call me names and stuff, but this time his assumption of me being … liking boys had gotten more than confirmed."

He silenced as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"If you behave like a girl then why aren't you one? Shall I help fixing you? Let's cut off everything … vulgar." Eddie swallowed as he looked to Waylon. "He never really did that, but these were his words. I guess … you may have heard these words from somewhere." Eddie smiled tiredly.

So Eddie had used these words as he had tried to castrate Waylon, not knowing that it was his own father who had threatened him with them. Waylon got sick thinking about how you can do this to your own child. He instantly thought about Lisa. If anything like this happened to his children … Waylon didn't want to think about it.

"This whore let it happen," Eddie snarled. "She let me down, this … this fucking slut wasn't there when I needed her the most."

It was really interesting yet saddening to see Eddie insulting the person he had praised all the time back then.

"I remember her falling down the stairs … and never standing up again. But I was too small to understand. Understand that it was him who … who killed her. Him and his rage. He shoved her down the stairs, I know it, and then he told the police that she had fallen badly." His memory was right since this is exactly what Waylon had read. The psychologist had even written down something concerning domestic abuse. No child should witness this kind of things. Hearing this broke Waylon's heart. He felt terribly sorry for Eddie and he was glad that he had made the right choice: following his instincts and deciding to help Eddie. Waylon instinctively wanted to hug Eddie, but then he remembered that he couldn't do that anymore and he felt something inside. A strange feeling he wasn't able to identify. … Waylon wouldn't have minded hugging Eddie. But now, everything was over and he was happy about it since this was what Waylon always wanted. Right?

"Your name is Waylon," Eddie stated with a blank expression on his face. Waylon nodded lightly.

"And you're not a woman", he said. – "… No," Waylon replied quietly. Eddie swallowed, then he inhaled deeply.

"And 'fixing' you would've killed you." Waylon didn't answer since it hadn't been a question anymore.

"… And you don't love me." – Waylon opened his mouth in order to answer, but he silenced.

A few minutes passed in which they just sat on the stairs, staring into space and said nothing to each other. Waylon didn't know what to say so he carefully put his hand on Eddie's … but he didn't care, so Waylon removed his hand, ashamed. Why did he keep on doing this? Wasn't everything alright by now?

"My father did these things to me until I turned sixteen. I didn't know how wrong it was, didn't understand … you know, I never really wanted to be a girl. I was just curious and I liked sewing. I taught it myself, using the books I had found in father's study. … When I was sixteen, in a brave moment, I reported him and he got arrested. I never saw him again. Shortly before they arrived, the people who wanted to take me away, I ran away."

Suddenly, he turned to Waylon. Empty eyes were looking at him.

"I killed people, Waylon. When I was 19, I murdered two women who hadn't done anything wrong but looking like my mother. I cut out their wombs because I thought someone like her wasn't allowed to have a baby, since she couldn't take care of me. But then they caught me because I didn't properly dispose the wombs and I got committed to a mental hospital because I didn't realize that I had mutilated them. I just had fixed them … in my eyes."

Waylon shivered as he thought about Eddie cutting out the wombs of these women. Must've been a mess, just like cutting off "everything vulgar" at Mount Massive.

A tear ran over his empty face as Eddie formed his next sentence. "I started to lose my mind and started to forget everything that had happened concerning my father and my mother. It was so … painful. Why did these things happen to me? What did I do to deserve this kind of father? I just wanted to become a taylor, nothing more. … Waylon, your touch has triggered something. The way you cupped my cheeks, the whole situation, me laying under you … he used to touch me like this. He used to grab my jaw and force me to look into my eyes when he …"

Waylon sighed, not knowing what to say. It felt like sitting next to a totally different Eddie Gluskin.

"You need help, Eddie. Serious help. We have to bring you to a mental hospital where they really help you," he said firmly. – Eddie sighed, "I have killed two women, you know that. Apart from all the Variants in Mount Massive. I won't be able to live a normal life. I … I'm really fucked, Waylon."

"No, they'll help you, I'm sure!" Waylon contradicted. "We'll, uhm, we'll just tell them the truth! We'l tell them what your father did to you and that you've seen your mother die. Uhm, you just … you …"

Waylon struggled for words, realizing that he was defending an actual murderer right now. This wasn't a film or a book. This was real, and this actually wasn't Waylon. Everybody's got a choice to be a murderer, he would've said, and this was true. But … he couldn't stop feeling sympathy for Eddie. Someone with a past so fucked-up … god, he didn't know what to think. He didn't know what was right. It was just … growing up this way of course leaves a mark. It was't Eddie's fault. But, yes of course it was. Wasn't it?

"I … I can't do this. I, I can feel everything, every touch, hear every word like it was yesterday. God," Eddie covered his face with his hands, sobbing bitterly, "I'm a murderer … I, I've killed two innocent women. Shit, I actually wanted to … wanted to castrate you. I'm so sorry. I made dozens of men hang in the gym, die. You were about to be one of them, but then you decided to play along. I must've frightened you to death. I don't even know where I found that knife … I can't believe you endured all the hours with me – and all of this in a wedding dress and with an injured leg. … You really are a fighter. No words can describe how sorry I am for what I've done to you. And … thank you for bringing me here."

"No problem, that's, uh," Waylon stuttered as he awkwardly put his hand on Eddie's shoulder, trying to caress him, "it's okay. I mean, you were a sweet husband, really distinguished and old-fashioned, except for, uhm, your regular outbursts of rage." Waylon laughed carefully, but Eddie catatonically stared on the ground, his head resting in his palms.

"But there's one thing I can do. To make this all stop. Because I can't live like this. Back when I was blind, I already realized that something was wrong. But I just felt it, I didn't know what it was. … Now I remember."

Suddenly, Eddie jumped to his feet.

"Eddie, what are you …?" Waylon asked in surprise before he realized what Eddie planned, running towards the balcony.

"No, Eddie! Eddie, d-don't!" Waylon screamed as he saw Eddie open the double door. "Eddie, don't you dare … fuck! EDDIE!"

"No! Stay where you are," Eddie cried, "I've lost everything, why won't you understand! He destroyed my whole fucking life! Look at me! He turned me into a monster!" Tears wetted his face as he was approaching the end of the balcony. There was nothing on the ground except a pile of stones. Hitting them while falling would mean his instant death.

"Eddie, stop fucking around, g-go away from the balcony," Waylon ordered shakily, "I'll help you, I promise! I, I'll be there for you! You don't need to get through this alone!"

"I've harmed you long enough," Eddie said emotionlessly as he suddenly climbed on the railing, insisting to jump.

"NO!" Waylon yelled as he ran towards Eddie and he caught his breath as he actually managed to grab his wrist. He shrieked with pain as Eddie's immense weigh pressed his chest on the railing, almost ripping out his arm. Shit, that man really weighed a ton!

Suddenly, just before Waylon couldn't hold him anymore, he heard a loud crack and the rotten wood of the railing broke, making Waylon fall on Eddie as they both smashed on the pile of stones.

"Ugh," Waylon groaned, holding his arm, "you okay?"

But Eddie didn't respond. Instead, he quietly sobbed, and his back shivered as he buried his face in his arms. Waylon sighed, gently caressing his arm.

"I'm sorry, Eddie," Waylon stood up and squatted down in front of Eddie, "I owe you my life and I won't let you end yours this way. I know this is hard, but you have to trust me."

He stroke Eddie's head who was whimpering like a little boy. This was the truth he had been eagerly trying to find out. But was it worth it? Hot tears were wetting the dirty stones under Eddie's face; hurt, vulnerable.

I did it, Lisa. I'm injured, and I'm wearing a dress, but I finally made it. I'm still alive and I'm coming for you. This is all over now, not only for me.

Great, isn't it?

"Come on, Eddie," Waylon said tenderly as he took his hand, "let's get out of here."

After Waylon had managed to get Eddie into the car without him trying to harm himself, he had driven to the next payphone and had called an asylum near Denver, Colorado. A few years ago, 14 to be exact, his sister had been committed to this very asylum because of her depression.

Eddie had started to talk less and less. After one hour of crying and whimpering, he seemed like he had developed some sort of catatonia. He barely spoke, didn't move. He was just laying on the back seat of the car, staring on the roof, bending his legs.

"Eddie? Theres's another gas station, maybe you need something now? Are you hungry? Thirsty?" Waylon tiredly looked on the road, seeming to be never ending. The sky was dark; giant clouds were covering the sun.

"Eddie, please talk to me."

"I don't want anything," Eddie replied monotonously. Waylon sighed. This had been going on for hours now. He hadn't want to talk nor to go out for a stroll.

"I'll … I'll come and visit you, I promise," Waylon said as he took a look at Eddie. He was quietly breathing, having his eyes shut. "Don't you dare. I've done you wrong so many times. Time to see your wife."

Waylon silenced. He didn't realize that Eddie had listened when he had told him about Lisa in the car. And the twins, and Miles Upshur, and Jeremy Blaire.

"SWAT members have stormed Mount Massive, an asylum in Lake County, Colorado, which happened to be scene of human subject experiments," Waylon could hear from the radio. Apparently, some Variants had been seen by the villagers. Even former military potentates like Chris Walker had been victim of the inhumane Project Walrider. Wow, what a surprise. Nobody could escape Mount Massive's claws. The SWAT-Members where shocked: corpses everywhere. Yeah, nothing special, huh? They even told about Dr. Wernicke, this ancient scientist, Billy's darling. Blaire had used to mock him. They said that he had been found dead. Rest in peace, old man. He surely didn't want all of this to happen. Apparently, Mr. Upshur had been seen, but Waylon highly doubted that he was still alive. Some people were still missing and Waylon sighed as he heard his name. He seemed to be the only one who had managed to get out of Mount Massive alive. They were searching for him.

"Wait, I just heard that there's another patient who has gone insane," a radio announcer said, "apparently, dozens of dead bodies are hanging from the ceiling of the gymnasium of Mount Massive."

Waylon sighed again; if that didn't sound familiar. "Although there aren't any real subjects, there are two men who could be connected to the crimes of, oh … I just heard that there are grotesque imitations of a birth made out of human corpses. The police is still investigating. The two missing men are called Eddie Gluskin and Waylon Park. If anybody knows something about these two men, the person is obliged to contact the police."

Waylon turned off the radio. It was one singe imitation of a birth. But whatever. Apparently, it had taken them about two days to finally enter Mount Massive without every member getting killed. He hoped that Eddie didn't get shot instantly after arriving at the hospital. They probably already reported them to the police. Crap. He really needed to take care of Eddie.

After driving for another few hours, Waylon could see they were driving on the roads of Colorado again. What a journey. No words could describe how much he wanted to take a bath. He smelled like dog; a wet dog covered in blood and dirt. And Eddie could need a little shower, too. Waylon didn't know what time it was. Probably somewhere around 3 o'clock. His foot started to hurt again after driving for six hours. He really needed to go and see a doctor, but Eddie needed one more than Waylon.

Suddenly, Waylon remembered that he was still barefooted, sitting in the car in a dirty wedding dress, his face full of bruises and … a hickey on his neck! No fucking way they'd take him seriously looking like that. He sighed. Too bad it wasn't Halloween, he could've spared himself his costume. He really needed to drive home fast and change his clothes before Lisa could see him like this.

Lisa. It's an hour, maybe two, that separates us. Lisa, my love, my beautiful girl. Now you're so close. There've been some moments I gave up on myself, gave up on the thought of ever seeing you again, but here I am. I've survived Frank Manera, survived Dissociative Dennis, survived Chris Walker, survived Rick Trager and Jeremy Blaire and … I've survived and helped Eddie Gluskin at the same time. Oh Lisa, what if I'm not the same man anymore? What if you don't recognize me anymore? … Because I don't.

"Hey Eddie, look," Waylon said, entering the gate of the asylum, "we're finally there. Now everything's gonna be okay."

"…"

Waylon stopped the car, then he turned around and looked at Eddie, crouching in the corner of the car. His eyes were swollen from crying and he looked like a wounded animal.

"Hey," Waylon said tenderly as he brushed his cheek, making Eddie look up, "it's okay, I'm there. I've already talked to them. They understand everything. They'll take care of you."

"Will we …" Eddie whispered, falling silent. Suddenly, he grabbed Waylon's hand and Waylon could feel his sweaty gloves. Eddie was nervous.

"Will we meet again?" There was so much pain in his shaking voice; pain and despair. He looked at him firmly. Waylon nodded.

"Yes, we will," he said, "I promise." And somehow, Waylon didn't know what frightened him the most: the fact that he had promised to visit Eddie or the fact that there actually was no need for a promise.

"Okay," Eddie said, dropping his hand, "let's go."


	11. Her

Her

Waylon somehow blushed as he entered the asylum. There weren't a lot of people, but the one who were sitting on the benches looked confusedly at the odd couple. The eyes of the woman at the reception desk widened as she saw Waylon and Eddie. It was weird walking down the corridor of a normal asylum without doctors who wanted to kill you and flying swarm of nanomachines following you.

"Please don't be alarmed," Waylon said quickly, approaching the reception, "my name is Waylon Park and this is Ed- I mean Mr. Gluskin. I've talked with you about him."

"Oh," the woman said, carefully looking at Eddie who emotionlessly stared on the ground, "I see. Thank's for bringing him in. Does … does he speak?"

Both looked at Eddie, not saying a single word. "He does, he's just … it's too much for him, right now."

"I understand. His condition looks bad. Everything's gonna be fine, Mr. Gluskin, you'll be able to talk to the doctor very soon," the woman said as she smiled carefully. She was young, probably new. Waylon liked her way of dealing with Eddie. And he liked that she didn't approach Waylon about the dress.

Suddenly, the woman leaned over and looked at Waylon. "You're the man who survived Mount Massive, right? The Waylon Park and this is the Eddie Gluskin, right? You both fled Mount Massive, right?"

"Ugh, w-well," Waylon stuttered. Apparently, they thought that Eddie had been victim of Project Walrider … and nothing else. "Uhm yeah, we both fled. Guess you can put it like that. Well, I think I'll go now, because –"

But Waylon wasn't able to finish his sentence, since he suddenly heard quick footsteps. A lot of footsteps.

"There they are! They took the back entrance!" he heard another woman yell and all of sudden, a huge crowd of reporters and cameramen were running towards Waylon, surrounding him and Eddie.

"Hey, hey! Step aside!" he could hear the woman at the reception yell before she got urged away by the reporters and their microphones. One flash, another flash, another flash. People yelling at him, begging him for an interview and holding their microphones on his mouth. He instantly grabbed Eddie's hand as he tried to push them aside, hoping Eddie's patience not to snap.

Noises, so many noises. People screaming at him, touching him, hands reaching out for him. All these noises. Voices mixing; blurry faces looking desperately at Waylon, expecting an answer.

"Mr. Park, is this really you? Mr. Park, why are you wearing a dress? Mr. Park, is that Eddie Gluskin? Mr. Park! Mr. Park? Mr. Park, just one question! Mr. Park, over here, please! What did you do at Mount Massive? Did you know from Project Railrider? Who you're with? Do you know Dr. Wernicke? Have you met Chris Walker? Have you seen the Wallwriter? Do you know Jeremy Blaire? What can you tell us about Murkoff Cooperation? Is this man next to you infected with necrotizing fasciitis?"

All the people yelling at him were giving Waylon a headache and despite telling them to give him a few seconds, they continued like a bunch of animals, gone wild about their food. He tried to hide his face, but the cameras didn't stop flashing, and after having kind of managed to battle his way trough all the people, he suddenly heard a familiar voice.

"Waylon …?"

Waylon held his breath, forgetting about the photographers and the reporters for a second. … There she was. She was wearing the black dress; her thick, wavy hair in a messy bun. Her belly had gotten a little bit rounder. Since she hadn't been allowed to visit him the four weeks he had been obliged to stay at Mount Massive, he noticed every time her belly had been growing. It's been 5 months now, and she had never looked better.

"Lisa!" Waylon screamed, running towards her before they fell in each other's arms. Tears bursted into his eyes as he brushed his finger through her soft, angled bangs and smelled her lovely scent, the one by Prada he had brought her last year. He wanted to hold her as tight as he can but he needed to mind the twins. Feeling her wrapping her arms about his neck made Waylon feel like it had been ages.

"Oh god, Lisa, oh god, oh god, why are you …? Oh shit, you can't imagine how much I've missed you. I've been though so much shit the last few days, oh god, I, I can't believe you're here in my arms," Waylon stuttered, overwhelmed with feelings, "I … I thought I would never see you again. Oh god, Lisa, Lisa …"

Waylon stopped as he began to cry. "Shh, Waylon, I'm here, everything's alright. It's over," Lisa's soft voice spoke to him, caressing his hair, "whatever has happened, I'm here. I'm so glad you're still alive, baby."

She smiled at him with tears running down her cheek, and Waylon stroke her head before he kissed her passionately. Soft, warm, delicate lips were touching his, and for a moment, Waylon caught himself being surprised how much Eddie's lips have healed in the last few hours. Then he remembered it was his angel's mouth he was brushing and he couldn't help but smile with relief.

"How are they?" Waylon asked Lisa, gently stroking her belly. She smiled, "They're fine. Just like their dad. Let's go. I'll tell you everything later. Not … here."

Waylon nodded, pushing away the photographers they successfully had managed to ignore for the past minutes and walked to Eddie, apathetically standing in the corner of the room, heedless of the nurse and some other photographers.

"Eddie," Waylon said, dragging him away, "Eddie, they'll help you here, just … just tell them everything they need to know, okay? I'll … I'll come and visit soon. I promise."

Eddie nodded, carefully taking his hand. "Thank you for everything," he said, avoiding Waylon's gaze, "I owe you. I … I have no words for what has happened. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Waylon said smiling, "we're friends, after all."

Suddenly, a frenzy of flashing cameras interrupted their talk and photographers were pushing Waylon aside, trying to talk with Eddie.

"Get away from him," Waylon yelled as he saw Eddie being overwhelmed by all the people trying to ask him for an interview, "go and call the security, they have to leave this place!" The nurse nodded before she ran down the corridor.

"Waylon, it's ok, leave this place as long as you can," Eddie said firmly as he reached out his hands, and Waylon did the same thinking Eddie insisted shaking his hand or something.

"Here," Eddie said tenderly as Waylon noticed the little box in his hands, "it's yours, after all." He smiled softly, then Lisa suddenly dragged Waylon away and Eddie's face disappeared behind the cameras. Waylon stumbled down the stairs as he reluctantly followed Lisa, not managing to avert his gaze from Eddie. It hurt like hell seeing him like that. Such a different man. Leaving him felt … strange.

This hell had really come to an end. Everything was like it never happened. He was still alive and … the old Eddie was dead.

"Okay, baby, tell me everything that happened," Lisa said, opening the car to get some fresh air, "I'm so glad you're alive. You know, when I heard what happened I freaked out and tried to contact Mount Massive, but nobody answered the phone."

What did they do with Eddie at this very moment? Waylon hoped he was alright. He should've stayed there. Yes, he finally had his Lisa back, but all that trouble, all these noises … that must've been to much for Eddie. Jesus, why did he even continue thinking about him? He was with his wife, his pregnant wife he hadn't seen in a month. He needed some time, Waylon guessed, get some shuteye and take a shower and everything was going to be normal.

"Waylon? Are you … there?"

"Huh? Oh. I'm sorry, darling. What did you just say?"

Lisa silenced, confusedly staring at the driving wheel. "Uhm, I … I just said that I had tried to contact you, but the phones were broken or so." – "Oh yeah, Blaire had tried everything to keep everybody's mouth shut, including mine. Now everything's over but, well, I have the proof of everything," Waylon pointed at the files he had taken from the jeep.

"I heard Blaire recently …" – "Died? That's true. He got killed by his best friend," Waylon laughed. Lisa didn't understand a single world, and Waylon promised her to explain everything when they were home.

"Finally this bastard got what he deserved," Lisa said, staring on the streets, "I can't believe he did us this favor. What are these files?" – "My means of destroying Murkoff," Waylon answered.

They said nothing to each other for a while. In ten minutes they would arrive at Waylon's home. He imagined Lisa and him falling on the bed, passionately loving each other. So close and yet so far away. He really needed to do some things before that.

"Uhm, Waylon? The man you were with … is that Eddie Gluskin?"

"Yes, he is. Why?" Finally Lisa came up with the questions she actually wanted to ask him.

"I've … I've seen photos of his, well, territory. The sewing room and the gym and … and the … Waylon, did he do something to you? I know that dress is made by him, you don't have to lie. That wound on your leg, was that him? I mean, you're safe now, you don't have to play along."

"I don't have to …? Oh, yeah, of course. No, Eddie's not that bad, in fact, he's actually pitiable, he's just … very lonely and desperate and has a terrible past. His mother died, his own father raped him and everything, see, it's just very complicated. So yeah, that wound's because of him, and yeah, I'm fine, baby," Waylon smiled as he caressed Lisa's smooth arm. But Lisa didn't look relieved.

"What the hell, Waylon? He killed patients just because he felt doing so. … And you even call him Eddie."

"That's actually not true, he thought they are women who needed to be fixed."

"That's like defending Hitler."

"What the hell, Lisa? Could you please not?"

"I … I can't believe you're defending him. Have you seen his bloodshot eyes?"

Waylon sighed, "Yes, believe it or not, I have. But this isn't his bloodlust or anything, it's the result of forcing him to serve as a guinea pig for Project Walrider." – "For what?"

Waylon silenced. Why had he forgotten about that? Now that Lisa and him were back together, she surely had a lot of questions. And she would't be as lenient with Eddie as him. Shit. Lisa probably had seen his hickey … what if she decided to continue asking? … No. He couldn't tell her what had happened between Eddie and him. It was too embarrassing, nobody needed to know about this. Waylon knew Lisa well. She was the most beautiful creature on earth, but she wasn't free of jealously as well. Waylon needed to keep his mouth shut, especially concerning this one night … the night in which him and Eddie had been closer than ever before.

"You know, you're already famous," Lisa said quietly, "they've found the tapings of the security cameras. You were seen fighting some really dubious … people, surviving all of that. And you were seen fleeing with that guy. You're kind of a star now."

"No offense, but he's got a name, too," Waylon could hear himself say, and he gasped. Shit, he needed to stop defending Eddie. This really looked weird.

"No offense taken. I know, I'm sorry, baby. It's just … so strange, seeing you like this. In that dress, your face covered in bruises, I," Lisa got quieter, helplessly staring at the wheel, "I was worried sick about you."

"I know, baby. I love you," Waylon smiled, carefully stroking Lisa's hair. Then he looked up, and what he saw next made his heart race a bit.

This old big tree the kids from Leadville liked to climb, then the van that's been standing here forever, then the cobbled surface making the car shake, then this one, old advertising pillar and … there it was. His home, the small house with the cute garden, standing in front of a tiny forest. Everything was still the same. That fence Waylon hadn't managed to finish coloring after he had drove back to Mount Massive, the pigeons romping in the bird bath. Lisa had no idea what seeing all of this felt like.

While Lisa was making some coffee, he took off the dress and his pants, and took a shower. Feeling the hot water running over his body never felt as good as right now. He could see the water turn red as he soaped himself. He managed to carefully put off the bandage Trager had brought him before he had anesthetized him. He had heard that Blaire had been found with some fingers and his tongue missing, and his genitals chopped off. Served him right. Next to him Trager who had been crushed by something. After taking off the bandage, Waylon could see that his leg was still as shitty as it had been before, and it started to hurt again. It was red, and blue, and green. After getting out of the shower, he took some paracetamol, then he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked exhausted, and he sort of aged. His eyes were tired and deep rings were hanging under them. His lips were chapped, but not as much as Eddie's, and his face and one eye was full of bruises. And the hickey. Waylon hoped Lisa would take it for a bruise as well, but … that was highly unlikely.

"Baby? Are you okay?" Lisa asked, carefully opening the door. Waylon smiled. "Yes I am. Now."

His love scrutinized his bare body, then she smiled as she took his hand and tenderly pulled Waylon into the bedroom.

"I've waited so long for you," she said as she was opening her dress. "Me, too," Waylon replied, caressing her soft skin, "you're so beautiful. Your voice sounds like an angel, I almost forgot. Oh god, Lisa, I really thought I would never see you again. I fucked up so hard."

"Don't say things like this," Lisa said as she shoved down her black dress, "let's not talk about this. Let's do other things." Waylon smiled as he took of her underwear, carefully leaning over her.

"Your eyes," Waylon said tenderly, seeing them shine is the light of the sunset, "they're so bright, and right now they look a bit like forget-me-not."

"I know I look good, darling."

Waylon held his breath as Eddie's face flashed to his mind, his light blue eyes shining in the red light of the sunset, as he proceeded along the never ending road to Nebraska.

"Waylon?" Lisa asked carefully. "Your heart is racing, what's the matter, baby?"

"Nothing," Waylon smiled as he kissed her carefully, "just some flashbacks. I love you, baby. Let's continue."

"I'd like to but … aren't you happy to see me?"

"Huh? Of course I am!" Waylon didn't know what his love was talking about, before he realized what she meant. "Oh, uh, I …" he stuttered, looking down on him and noticing him being not excited at all, "as I said, it must be Mount Massive. And I'm actually pretty freaking tired."

"It's ok, baby. Let's have some rest. I'm so happy to have you back." They smiled at each other, then they closed their eyes, holding each other tight. It was cold, even under the two blankets, and sometimes the heating didn't work, like now, but Waylon was happy to be here. Everything was old and a bit shabby, but they didn't have more money, and he could sleep with Lisa everywhere.

"I know it's not pure extravagance but it will do. At this very moment, love's the only thing we need."

"Go away, Eddie," Waylon whispered to himself, "we had our time. Why can't you leave my mind?"


	12. The Man in the Wedding Dress

The Man in the Wedding Dress

The following time passed by really fast. Waylon eventually went to Eddie's asylum and drove back Mr. Upshur's jeep, then he gave it to the police after cleaning it. It felt strange driving it, since the last time had been when he and Eddie had come back from Eddie's home. Standing in front of the asylum made Waylon want to check if Eddie was alright, but he didn't dare to take a look, even though he had promised to do so. For now, it was important to remove Eddie from his life, since he was safe now, and Waylon had to do other things. And … he didn't want something to happen like seeing Lisa's bare body without feeling anything. This had been terrible. So he just sort of winked at the asylum, hoping that Eddie would see it. He would visit him. But not now.

As soon as he had been home again, the press had been eager to talk to him. It seemed like he was the only one surviving Mount Massive by fleeing, except for Eddie. Almost every SWAT member had died of the first mission of evacuating Mount Massive. After Dr. Wernicke's suicide and Murkoff's statement, claiming that all of that happened by mistake and that they didn't want anybody to get hurt, Waylon finally had the courage to publish his experiences, despite many warnings. There were a lot of people who wanted to support him and help him with publishing all those files, and he needed the first weeks to find a proper partner for all of this. Waylon sucked at writing and the demand of him publishing the truth grew. He eventually found an editor who believed everything he said, even the things with the Walrider. Even though he was kind of famous now, just a few people actually believed him, and Murkoff tried its best to make Waylon appear like a lier, someone who had gotten mentally ill because of these experiences and someone who had gotten influenced by all the things the Variants had claimed. However, after watching the recordings of his camcorder, more and more people actually believed Waylon despite Murkoff's efforts to destroy him.

At some point, Murkoff's threats started to fade away since they started to become implausible. After weeks of research and looking through the files, they couldn't bring up new excuses, and one month later the whole organization was soon disbanded. Things started to get crazy in Waylon's life. In the first month he was busy publishing the files he had collected, in collaboration with his editor. Despite the rush of the press, eager to interview Waylon and talk to him, Waylon waited about two weeks before he gave his first interview. Things were happening so fast. A few months ago he had been a simple software engineer working for Murkoff, not knowing that it was him who would destroy the company one day. The first interview he gave was for the New York Times. They wanted to write an article about him, but that had been just the beginning. They paid very well for it, and Lisa had needed to force him to give that interview.

"What did you expect? Publishing these files and destroying Murkoff without the world showing interest in you? Come on, baby. Go and reap the fruits of your labor."

They asked him about his time at Mount Massive, and he told them everything – almost everything. He told them about the shitty colleagues, the miserable working conditions, his beloved supervisor Jeremy Blaire – God rest his fucking avaricious soul –, Murkoff threatening Lisa, Waylon not being able to see her, and then he went far afield, telling about Project Walrider, about Dr. Wernicke, about Billy Hope, touching on Frank Manera, Chris Walker, Rick Trager and Martin Archimbaud, when he eventually ended up explaining why he had been wearing that wedding dress. The explanation everybody wanted. There was no way of hiding the truth so he just explained the obvious things: Eddie Gluskin being stuck in a delusion of wanting to fix men.

"Did he tried to, you know, fix you?"

"No, he didn't," Waylon lied since he luckily hadn't recorded that scene, "he never really tried to hurt me."

After Waylon truthfully had said that it was himself who had caused the wound on his foot by running away and falling badly, he continued defending Eddie, telling what had happened to him. Horrified faces, two women looking at each other, holding their breath. Then the truth, again. Waylon devotedly accompanying Eddie, still pretending to be his wife, not mentioning Eddie's propose and the fact that Waylon still had the wedding ring. Such a relationship, what a shocker. Tears were running down of the two women's cheeks, the men – paralyzed with shock. Nobody knew his life was that interesting – what a hero, what a bromance. Waylon had the feeling that they kind of wanted to hear more about Eddie and him, more than about the actual reason he was sitting there right now.

The Man in the Wedding Dress: Is Waylon Park the New Edward Snowden?

"What the hell. I've been through so much shit and this is what they came up with? The dress is the most important thing?!" Waylon said, glancing at the painting of him in a wedding dress before he threw it in the trash can. A kiss landed on his lips.

"You look really sweet in that dress, baby."

Given the fact that the first night with Lisa had been horrible, since Waylon hadn't really felt manly at all, these problems were sort of vanished now. To be true, Waylon didn't really know. It had been six weeks now and Lisa was sweet and caring as always even though she was the one who needed care. Loving her soon started to feel like always, it was … always a beautiful feeling, and touching her smooth body felt great as always, too.

But these sentences. These words. They kept on randomly appear on Waylon's mind, and they also kept destroying the moment's with Lisa. Haunting Waylon, almost seeming like they wanted to remind him of …

It had been two months since Eddie had been committed to the mental hospital. Waylon knew he had promised to keep in touch but he … hadn't been able to force himself to do so yet. He didn't want to know what Eddie was thinking. Was he mad? The month was passing by so fast, and Lisa didn't like Waylon talking about Eddie. She also refused to wash the dress he had made for Waylon, so Waylon secretly did it by himself, then he hid it somewhere in his wardrobe. There was this one part in his body that wanted to stay away from Eddie so bad, who wanted all these things to be over, and then … there was this other part, subliminally thinking about him all the time, letting Eddie's quotes pop up out of nowhere. Sometimes when Waylon was laying next to Lisa, having his eyes shut, falling asleep, then he could see them. Two aquamarines, glowing in the dark, staring at him. But not in a scary way, more in a … familiar way. Eagerly awaiting Waylon.

After Waylon's interview for the New York Times, he eventually got some invitations from some talk shows for a television appearance, but he didn't want to accept it. Someone like him shouldn't be sitting in front of a huge crowd, next to a famous host, explaining what happened at Mount Massive. He soon started to feel like this was totally out of place. He had survived the insanest fuckers, wanting to kill him, eat him and, yes, castrate him. He had almost shat himself when Eddie suddenly had appeared in front of the glass door, had almost gotten a heart attack when he had tried to castrate him, slowly pushing the circular saw in the direction of his testicles. Waylon had survived the weirdest, craziest and most unbelievable shit over there, and they wanted him to chat about it. Of course his resistance didn't last long.

"They don't want to chat about that, Waylon. They want you to tell about your experiences because you're on everyone's lips, in case you didn't know. This is your reward for being a hero, baby."

Hero. What a name. The true hero was Mr. Upshur. Waylon still felt terrible for telling him about what had been happening down there in the Underground Lab. He had never thought that he would actually come! And now he had given his life for finding out the truth. Of course, his recordings had been found by now. He had used a camcorder, too, like Waylon, and had collected files as well. These files had been published together with Waylon's. At the front page: a lovely, kitschy aphorism, claiming that Waylon and Mr. Upshur had been "real heroes". Well, if running off with one of the Variants and developing a really weird relationship with him, somehow accepting his proposal and jerking him off afterwards, was hero-like – then Waylon was a hero, indeed.

Mr. Upshur's funeral was weird. There weren't much people – his relatives, as Waylon guessed –, and someone who seemed to be his best friend, that's it. Kind of sad, actually. Waylon had been invited because his family had probably thought he had known him, since he had written him that email, and before Waylon had been able to contradict, he had been invited. Mr. Upshur's funeral took place on a huge graveyard; it was beautiful there. A big field, covered with white gravestones, surrounded by a giant forest. Mr. Upshur's dead body hadn't been found, so it was a funeral without a casket being let down. They were standing under an old weeping willow when Waylon suddenly saw a shadow far away from the ceremony. After realizing there was nothing that could produce such a shadow, Waylon got premonitions of who could be standing there, gazing at them. Waylon sighed with grief.

"Mr. Upshur," he mumbled, taking off his head as he took a small bow, "I'm dreadfully sorry. You earned my highest respect."

The weeks went by, and the Park's fame grew and grew.

"No, I'm not gonna do that. Everybody, even our mailman and my barber, everybody wants something from me, and I've told all of these Mount Massive Stories so many times, I'm getting real tired of it. I just want to be let alone."

"Well, I'd like to say that I'm gonna take this off your shoulders, but it's not me who survived Mount Massive with just a scratch."

Lisa really liked the fame resulting from Waylon's recent popularity, even though nothing had really changed. Yes, in other words, they could live off the money Waylon got for all these interviews and the files and all the stuff that had gotten published – they could do it very well –, but despite Lisa's wish of moving, Waylon didn't want to fulfill it. Why? He didn't know. The published files didn't bind him to this place and since everybody tried to talk with him about his expediences, it would've actually been a good idea. Waylon had also gotten a lot of requests, big companies asking him to work with them. But he hadn't answered a single one yet.

Standing ovation in an ocean of high beams when Waylon entered the huge hall. Shit, the light was dazzling. After Waylon had given some interviews about Mount Massive and Project Walrider, big fishes started to want to interview him and wanted him to be on air.

"Not again this silly shirt-pullover combination. Time to wear some fancy clothes."

Lisa somehow started to behave like it was her who deserved the fame, but Waylon wasn't that sad about it. At least he didn't have to do it. He just somehow wished that she wouldn't try to change him. But it was his precious Lisa and he loved her more than anything.

And that's how Waylon, still kind of suffering from the jet lag, was sitting in a a red armchair, facing Ellen DeGeneres, talking with her about the things he had already talked about endlessly.

"No way! He did what?" she asked, pulling a face while looking at the camera.

"It's true," Waylon laughed, "I swear to god, he wanted to cook me. He always said something like I can smell you! and The meat is mine!"

Horror in the audience's faces, disgust and fascination at the same time. If that's what they wanted, they should get it.

"Now, Waylon, let's take a look at your recordings from your … from your camcorder? Yeah. For the people who don't know yet, a good month ago Mr. Park published the files and the recordings of him roaming through the asylum Mount Massive – together with Miles Upshur who has laid down his life for his investigations."

Waylon continued talking about what had happened to him, and then he told about Chris Walker, searching for the Walrider, and Martin Archimbaud. Hands were covering hundreds of mouths as he told about Archimbaud's suicide and the chapel being ablaze.

"Waylon, that sounds … that sounds terrible," Ellen said compassionately, "first your leg, which is luckily okay by now as you said, but then watching that, what was it called? Morphogenetic Engine. Just to uncover Murkoff's abominations. You and Miles Upshur are true heroes."

Applause, again, and some people were holding posters with his name written on it. Waylon sighed silently. Could you not? I'm not a hero, I'm a traitor and fucking deserter who did everything to survive, even …

A cheering crowd, then a smile from Ellen as she started the film clip. Even though Waylon saw these scenes for the umpteenth time, it still felt weird seeing himself walking down the corridor, fleeing from Walker or Manera, groaning like a dog as he saw the Walrider approaching him or talking to himself how many people were chasing him after he realized that it was just one – Dennis. Oh Dennis, he seemed to frighten the audience the most, even though Waylon had feared him least since he had neither tried to eat him nor tried to castrate him. Waylon somehow started to be lost in contemplation when he suddenly heard a hearty "Darling!", followed by an outcry of dismay by the audience. There it was, Eddie's toothy grin and his white eyes, his body black and green because of the night vision. Waylon sighed. Why did they love this one picture of him that much?

"Well, we kinda became allies. He is, uhm, really tall and strong," Waylon told Ellen after talking about Eddie and where Waylon had seen him the first time, "he actually protected me, so I'm, uhm, sorta thankful."

The audience didn't know how to react because of, after a warning on the part of Ellen, the censored version of Eddie's grotesque model of the "woman" giving birth and all the other corpses laying around. Of course, everyone wanted to know what had really happened between them since Waylon didn't record everything and eventually stopped doing so. Waylon knew that covering up the truth wasn't such a great idea, given the fact that Eddie once threatened the cashier at the gas station with a knife and that they paid with Mr. Upshur's credit card even though he was already dead. So Waylon just told the truth. Apart from some … small matters.

"As we all know, you're married to Lisa Park since 11 months and – congratulations at this point – I heard you're expecting twins!" Applause, again, while the big monitor showed a picture of Lisa's and his wedding. Where did they get this from?! Of course, they weren't interested in Lisa and him.

"And this," the monitor showed a picture of Waylon and Eddie arriving at the asylum, "is you in the wedding dress." Ellen grinned, together with the audience, and Waylon couldn't help but laugh, too. These photos had been in circulation since that day, and Lisa had been furious only looking at them.

"And this is Eddie Gluskin, right?" Ellen asked. Waylon nodded, telling about him thinking that women needed to be fixed, carefully avoiding the fact that he had tried to castrate him, too. Then he confirmed the fact that he had been abused and raped by his father, and he couldn't believe how quickly everybody took his side even though he was a serial killer.

"Wow, that guy's really tall, like … 6'5''?!" – Waylon laughed, "Yeah, that's about right, I guess."

"And dearie me, he looks scary!" Ellen said, struck with astonishment. An then Waylon told about him, again. Told about his delusion and being used for Project Walrider, about Eddie calling him "darling" and thinking he was his wife, about Eddie rescuing him and rescuing him again, about the wedding dress Eddie had made for him and him calling him "Lynn", about their escape with Mr. Upshur's jeep, about Eddie wanting to find out more about his past and about them finally arriving in Nebraska, and then about him finding out what had happened to him.

"And then you decided to bring him to an asylum where they's actually help him," Ellen said thoughtfully, "what a story. I've really never heard something like this in my life."

"Me neither," Waylon said, smiling tiredly as he looked at the picture of Eddie and him. He was looking so sad, so … empty. Waylon felt bad for not keeping in touch with him. The chances were low but maybe … maybe Eddie would see this interview, see that Waylon still thought about him. His stomach hurt thinking about him. Why couldn't he stop doing so? Why was Eddie still dominating Waylon's mind? Why was he feeling so, so weird thinking about him? It had been more than two months now and Waylon thought about him every day. This was so sick, and it needed to stop. And, strangely enough, he didn't think about the bad things happening between them, like Eddie wanting to kill him or stuff like that. He always remembered these other things, Waylon and him laying on the grass, holding each other tight … kissing.

"So … this was the story of the man in the wedding dress," Ellen laughed, "and thankfully, all of this is over now."

"Yeah," Waylon laughed and he suddenly got quieter, thoughtfully looking at his shoe tips, "everything's … over now."


	13. What Had Been

What Had Been

"I still don't know why you want to keep that," Lisa said one morning, a few days after Waylon's appearance on Ellen's show. Against all expectations, their relation hadn't really improved. No, quite the reverse – it sort of had lost its lightness. Yes, they could afford way more than before, and Lisa looked better everyday, but still … something had changed.

"I … I don't know, too," Waylon said, taking the wedding dress from her, holding it carefully. She looked confused … and pissed. Lisa didn't like Waylon talking about Eddie, even if he talked about the things he had done to him, for example letting him hang from the gym's ceiling. (Which probably had been a mistake because that just had made her angrier.)

"You never touched my wedding dress like this, and I bet you don't even know where it is."

"Of course I do. It's at your sister's house … right?"

"You really don't give a shit, do you?" Lisa sighed.

Yes, the weeks after Waylon's sudden fame were difficult. But that didn't mean that they didn't love each other. Fame and money just weren't always accompanied by positive things only. Lisa started to get used to Waylon buying her dresses and taking her out, and that was okay, she just somehow began to change. She bought new clothes for Waylon (with his own money, ironically) and wanted him to dress fancier and even told him he could be way more than a simple software engineer. But Waylon knew that it was just a phase.

One day, about three months had passed now since Waylon had brought Eddie to the asylum, a letter landed on Waylon's mat. Waylon managed to get it before Lisa, then he sneaked out of the house and opened it. It was from Eddie's mental hospital. Of course, Waylon hadn't visited him by now. It was written by a nurse.

Dear Mr. Park,

two months and three weeks ago you brought Eddie Gluskin to the St. Mary's mental hospital. Since I am the responsible nurse for Mr. Gluskin's section (light – severe depression), and since you have not visited Mr. Gluskin yet, I wanted to give you a brief summary of his state of health, given the fact that you are his only attachment figure. Mr. Gluskin was very quiet and apathetic after your departure, he didn't speak a lot. He only responded to direct questions, which is typical for patients suffering from a mean to severe depression. His bruises and skin peelings slightly healed, but the scars resulting from it only look slightly different. It will take several years to look "normal", I'm afraid.

Mr. Gluskin did not eat and drink much and did not participate in group activities; he preferred being on his own. When he is, he draws a lot. He likes drawing sketches of dresses.

A few weeks ago, his state started to improve. Mr. Gluskin is still calm and sometimes absent-minded, but he now talks more. He especially gets along well with the female patients and nurses who find him very polite and charming (myself included). We also try to keep the press away from him.

So much for Mr. Gluskin's state of health. I know you are very busy because of your recent publication, but I am sure Mr. Gluskin would appreciate your visit.

Sincerely,

J. Berry

(He talks about you everyday, and he collects every part of the newspaper mentioning you. He really liked your appearance on "The Tonight Show" and "The Ellen DeGeneres Show". He wants to write you, but he doesn't dare to. He's such a gentleman, everybody loves him.)

The last sentences were handwritten. Waylon felt bad reading those lines, but he did it over and over. So Eddie still thought about him, which was … bad? Good? Waylon started to get confused about himself. The whole Eddie-Gluskin-adventure had been a hell of a journey, so why didn't he want it to end?

Everything turned out so wrong. Sometimes, Waylon went to his little beside cabinet, opened the drawer and took out a small box. There it was. Waylon's engagement ring. It was actually just a blue shard, from a window or a vase or whatever, carefully glued on a tiny silver ring. Waylon was mad at himself for not throwing it away and for hiding it from Lisa. He was behaving like a child. Lisa was his wife. He loved her, why did he hide these things from her? If she didn't want him to talk about Eddie or to keep that dress, why didn't he obey? If it hurt her feelings? He was a bad husband. Sometimes, Waylon got lost in thought and even forgot about Lisa. Lisa, the one who had given him hope, who had kept him from surrendering in Mount Massive.

Since they had found Waylon's "love letters" he had written during his time in Mount Massive, he and Lisa were kind of a flagship couple. Every scandal sheet wrote about them, and of course about him and Eddie.

Waylon & Lisa Park – The Sweetest Couple Alive? Find Out What Kept Waylon Park From Giving Up in Mount Massive! Mr. & Mrs. Park Are Expecting Twins?! 20 Facts You Didn't Know About Waylon Park. Waylon Park and Eddie Gluskin – Friendship of Necessity or More? The Man who Survived – Why Waylon Park Hated Jeremy Blaire! Lisa Park Spotted with Other Man – Is She Cheating?

These idiots. Nobody knew shit about Waylon and Lisa, and especially about him and Eddie. If someone would've told Waylon what would've happened if he published these files … Waylon would've thought twice. This whole situation had gotten out of control. Sometimes, Lisa came back from shopping with her friends, spending money on clothes which would've been Waylon's monthly wage. And people kept calling him, claiming they were old friends. Hypocritical bastards. Waylon was sick of all these interviews, all these talk shows, all these people wanting something from him. He didn't even dare to google himself by now.

"I told you to turn that shit off."

Lisa never liked Waylon watching the records of Eddie and him meeting for the first time. Perfectly understandable. These scenes weren't for the faint-hearted.

"Why do you keep watching that crap?"

"I'm sorry, darling. You're late. Why didn't you call me back? I was worried."

"Will you stop calling me darling!" Lisa yelled and Waylon blushed. Shit, it had happened again.

"I went out with Charlie." – "Oh, is he nice?" Waylon asked, still looking at him running through the Vocational Block. He could feel his leg hurting even though it had already healed. Damn, that wound was nasty.

"Do you even care anymore? Just for your interest, Charlie is a woman. I brought a dress and some lingerie. I'm sorry, please don't look at your bank account … You wanna see me in it?"

"You know, I've talked to a few psychologists and I'm pretty sure that I now know why Eddie did that fixing thing," Waylon said thoughtfully, but he already saw her throwing his credit card on the ground.

Since Eddie had been raped, he had been used as a sexual partner of his father. In other words, his father had made him a … woman. Using him for sex and calling him a slut and denying that he was a boy forced Eddie to play the role of the woman. "Disturbed role allocation" was what the psychologist had called it, probably making Eddie doubt his gender, not being sure if he was actually a boy, since his father had called him a girl and had used him as a woman. His father had been his only attachment figure. Eddie would have needed a mother who would have played the role of his father's wife, as it should've been. A mother protecting him. This is why Eddie was such a misogynist now. Eddie needed to deal with this trauma for ten years, and since the pain accepting this fact was too great, he needed to "forget" everything. This was a remedial strategy of his mind, since thinking about it was too painful. But one part of him always knew that, he did remember, he just hadn't access to his memories. He had always felt that strange feeling that something wasn't quite right, as he had said to Waylon. This was his trauma attracting his notice. But why had he tried to fix these men? After connecting all the things which had happened to Eddie, he had found an explanation for that, as well. There was a term called "victimization". Since Eddie had experienced these horrible things and since he had chosen to repress them, the trauma needed to somehow call attention to itself. And in which way? Into making Eddie play the role of his father, making other men into women like he had done to him, because apparently, you can correct the nature. All of this while searching for the perfect wife, and since Eddie had thought that Waylon had the same hair and the same eyes like his mother, he had taken him for his wife. It was his and the trauma's silent cry for help, because Eddie hadn't been able to cope with these experiences. Now that he remembered what had happened, he started to suffer from a depression because this is what he always had tried to prevent.

Of course, Lisa wore her lingerie when Waylon entered the bedroom. Shit, he felt so … he didn't even feel tired, he just felt weird. Lisa's belly was bigger now, but not that big. But the belly wasn't the reason for Waylon feeling weird by looking at her. God, she looked so beautiful. Kissing her still felt like licking vanilla ice cream and touching her smooth body felt … it felt nice, but he somehow started to lose interest in touching her this way.

"This again?" Lisa said quietly. "Why aren't you aroused anymore? Don't you get enough sleep? Am I … too fat?"

"No, no, you aren't! I love you, baby," Waylon said, caressing Lisa's cheek. "You are my love, you're always perfect. I … I'm sorry, I probably didn't get enough sleep, as you said already."

"Way?" she asked, sad and somehow exhausted. The room was dark, and there was a strange silence between them. "I've seen you with Ellen. I've … I've heard you talking about Gluskin. I …"

"What, baby?" Waylon said tenderly, holding her hand. She looked desperate. "Don't get me wrong, I don't hate him. I know he saved you multiple times and I'm aware that you both have a … certain connection. But there's always this look on your face, especially when you told Ellen about him. I can't describe it. You never get that look when you talk to me or anything."

"I have no clue what you're talking of," Waylon said honestly, stroking Lisa's soft skin. "But I know that I want to make love with you. You look sexy as hell." Lisa smiled, and Waylon told the truth. She did look sexy, it was just … an empty feeling touching her.

They started kissing passionately and Lisa seemed to enjoy it a lot. "Take me," she said dizzily, running her fingers through Waylon's hair. She was so pretty, so aesthetic … but it didn't move Waylon at all.

"God, if you knew what I'd like to do to you right now," chapped lips spoke. Waylon started to lose his mind. Suddenly, he felt his back sweating. His heart was racing as he couldn't get Eddie's voice out of his head.

"I love you so much. What did I do to deserve you?" Stop! This needed to stop immediately! Waylon gasped at he felt Lisa's hands on his back, saw her moving under him, blushing with excitement. "I love you," she said, aroused, "take me, Waylon."

Lynn. "Darling! Don't leave me! I can't be alone!" Waylon held his breath, trying not to burst into tears. His head was spinning, and he felt like Eddie's bright eyes were watching him. Eddie. Waylon had left him! He was alone now, without anybody. Waylon had promised to visit him, and he hadn't kept his word. Eddie talked about him everyday, and he had left him.

Suddenly, a new feeling overcame Waylon, and in fit of arousal he grabbed Lisa's arms. "Yes, take me! Take me like you used to," she moaned before Waylon grabbed her hips, turning her over and making her lay face down.

"Waylon …? Waylon, what do you …!" she said, frightened. But he ignored her as he unbuttoned his pants, taking out his excitement. Then he pressed her on the bed as he wetted his hands, caressing her bottom.

"Waylon …?! Waylon, ugh, what are you going to …?! That hurts! No, d-don't! Stop it!" – "Keep still. You are my wife", Waylon growled, putting his erection on her butthole, "so you do as I say."

"No, no! Waylon, n-no!" Lisa screamed, trying to escape from Waylon's grip.

Light blue eyes staring at him. Strong hands grabbing his wrists. Chapped, swollen lips brushing his neck. A heavy, strong torso laying on a flat chest, almost suffocating him. Lips touching, bursting with lust, mouths breathing each other's hot air. Sweaty bodies holding each others tight and cheeks flushing with arousal. A groan on his neck, dirty gloves brushing over his face, and fingers running through his wet hair.

Then a slap in his face. Brown eyes widened with dismay, looking at him steadfastly.

The room was dark. Waylon could hear Lisa moving in the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea. His hands were wet, his eyes swollen. His whole body was shivering. Why? Why couldn't that stop? What was wrong with Waylon not being able to love her just like he had used to? Why did that man still control his life?

They never talked about that night again. Instead, they slowly started to do their own things. Everything had gotten so complicated, so … difficult. They proceeded with their relationship like it was something they had to do, and they were loving and caring and sexual … but something major had changed.


	14. Beyond All Delusions

Beyond All Delusions

A few days later, after the coast was clear, Waylon couldn't endure it anymore. He needed to see him, needed to talk to him. Maybe all of these sudden pictures, sudden voices flashing through his mind … maybe all of them were hints that he needed to talk to Eddie? Even though Waylon didn't really know what they should talk about. His great career? His marriage going down the tubes? How would Eddie look? What would he say? What if he was angry since Waylon hadn't kept his word?

Lisa had already forgiven him for this … accident. But Waylon had the feeling that she just did it because they both knew that they started to become estranged. He had told her he would go out and visit an old friend from college, but he kind of knew she didn't believe him. There weren't any friends left. Waylon's heart was racing as he saw the gates of the mental hospital. It looked so calm, so … innocent. Not like Mount Massive. Not at all. There he was, somewhere on this terrain.

Waylon entered the asylum and smiled at a young, colored lady with cute frizzy hair. She smiled widely.

"Waylon Park! I knew you would come. You want to visit Mr. Gluskin, I suppose?"

"Uhm, I … yeah," Waylon stuttered, somehow blushing.

"Oh, he'll be so glad to see you! He currently takes a walk with some of the patients, but he must come back in half an hour or so. Wanna chat a bit? I have some free time and we have a coffee machine over there," she smiled. She was so cute.

"Yeah," Waylon smiled carefully, "sounds good, I guess."

Waylon scrutinized the snowflakes falling on the ground while sitting in the warm winter garden. Christmas was getting closer, and Waylon couldn't care less. Strange. A year ago he had used to love this time of the year, because he had been able to see Lisa and celebrate with her family. They hadn't afforded a lot, but her mom's fantastic goose had been enough; sitting together, singing Christmas songs. Now, all of that slowly started to fade away. Waylon wondered how he would pass Christmas this year. Probably just like all the years before.

"Thank you for sending me the letter," Waylon suddenly said after chatting with her for a while. She was fun, and she seemed very smart. She wanted to became a doctor one day, but before that she needed to work as a nurse. She really liked Eddie.

"I know, these wounds and these eyes make him very scary. And he's so tall, I look like a dwarf next to him. And knowing his past and what he has done, was … frightening at first. But … the more time I spend with him, the more I start to know him better. He's such a gentleman. I don't know, I think he has a good heart. And, as I said, he talks of you everyday. He's so sorry what he has done to you, and he totally understands you not wanting to visit him. God, he'll flip his lid!"

Waylon smiled, noticing he started to get nervous. But why? He had passed the nights with him, kissed him, touched him … why did he start to get nervous over meeting him?

"Yeah, he really is pitiful. All he wanted to become was a tailor. His father … these things did to him, I just can't believe it. I don't know how to feel about Eddie finally remembering his past. He's really disturbed by it, he even tried to kill himself, I have such a bad conscience. It was all my fault. It was me who has found these files and everything, and it was me who touched him in this specific way, making him remember how his father had used to touch him. Oh god, this … I never expected anything like this to happen. Everything's gotten out of control. I always wanted to flee, I don't know, to run away from him. But at the end, I … I couldn't do it. He somehow affected … affects me in a certain way I can't describe. His blue eyes and his smooth voice," Waylon took a breather as he noticed himself fidgeting with his hands. Miss Berry looked at him compassionately, smiling. Suddenly, Waylon felt like pouring his heart out to her. She kind of seemed trustworthy.

"I … god, I just don't know what to think anymore. Lisa and me, we … I know I should be happy about destroying Murkoff and publishing the files and being on television and everything but I, I always have to think about Eddie and how he does. This is so crazy. You know, he tried to kill me. It was me who begged to be spared, who played along with his delusion, pretending to be his wife. He wanted to cut off my testicles. Can you imagine that? Despite being his wife, he was loving yet aggressive. Once he punched me in the face several times, then he almost raped me, but then again he … saved me twice. Lisa hates me for keeping that dress and that ring – I'm sure she knows about it – and I can hardly blame her for that. But I … there's always him showing up to my mind. This is so sick. Sometimes, I all of sudden remember him caressing me, speaking to me … touching me. Why do I always want to talk about him? Need to remember the old times driving with that jeep on a long road, hearing old rock songs? He's ruining my marriage in his own way, but after all, it's not his fault. … God, I'm so sorry for chattering. I know this was too much information. Shit, I'm so pathetic."

Waylon sighed, burying his face in his palms. Poor Miss Berry. She must've thought Waylon was insane. Why was everything so complicated?

"I think there's an easy explanation for all of your questions," Miss Berry smiled.

"You … you do? I'm sick, right? This can't be normal," Waylon said firmly. If there was an easy explanation, he would've known. Why was she so sure about it even though he hadn't told her everything? She must've thought that he was insane. That must've been the explanation.

"Oh, Mr. Park, it's way easier," she giggled, then she tenderly looked up. There was something in her eyes, something certain, that made Waylon shiver. "Sick, insane … call it what you want, but I would call it head over heels in love."

"W-What? No, no, no! You, you don't understand …!" Waylon stuttered as a blush of shame crept up his face. This … this couldn't be!

"I, ugh, I appreciate your help, b-but I'm afraid you're mistaken. I'm, ugh, not in love with … ugh, why are you laughing?" Waylon asked, dying of embarrassment. Never ever could this be true! He loved Lisa! And he loved touching her, making love with her … didn't he? He had played along for the sake of his own safety, his own life! Nothing but this made him do these things!

"It's just, I don't know," Miss Berry said, still giggling, "I just remembered Mr. Gluskin telling that you're a good kisser."

"Telling what?!" Waylon gasped. A harsh shiver went down his spine as he felt his back wetting his pullover. Such a chatterbox! "W-when did he say that? And why? Oh … oh god, this is so embarrassing." Waylon flung up his hands. First he was accused of having a crush on Eddie – on Eddie! –, and then this idiot told everybody about Waylon and him kissing!

"Oh my … I can't believe he told you that. Shit. Doesn't he have any other hobbies but having story time with you?!"

Miss Berry, who couldn't control her laughter, shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know," she said as she discreetly pointed at the entrance door, "ask him."

Waylon's heart leaped when he saw him. He was smiling, being surrounded by four other women who were young and pretty. They were laughing, and all of them wanted his attention, but he somehow managed to talk to everyone. He was wearing a dark coat which had turned white because of the snowfall. When he took it off, Waylon could see him wearing his old clothes, looking way cleaner. Still the same haircut … still the same scars. He wasn't far away from Waylon, maybe thirty feet, but since he was busy talking to the women and hanging up his coat in the cloakroom, he didn't notice Waylon.

Suddenly, Waylon stood up, feeling his sweaty palms. He thanked Miss Berry for the coffee and the nice chat, then he held his breath while approaching Eddie.

"Thank's for joining us, Eddie. It was nice talking to you," one of the women said while blushing, "as … as always."

Why did she call him Eddie? Waylon felt his stomach hurting, thinking about her and Eddie dating. What if she was in love with him? She looked at him so tenderly.

"No, thank you for inviting me," Eddie smiled, "it's always nice talking to you ladies since I'm …"

Waylon's heart skipped a beat as their eyes met. He swallowed, noticing his knees shaking. For a second, both of the men were staring at each other, making the woman next to Eddie look confusedly at him.

"Waylon," Eddie said, stunned. Then a grin bloomed on his lips.

"Hey Eddie," Waylon said, smiling carefully.

"So this is your room," Waylon said, shyly entering the room while Eddie was holding the door for him. It had a really nice view of the snow-covered forest. A world in white, it was so beautiful. A huge window showed the raging blizzard, wind was whistling through the cracks. Everything was so cold and yet Eddie's room was cozy as hell. Tiny lights and candles everywhere, creating a strange, mysterious atmosphere. He had made his bed, covering it with a handmade little blanket, probably by himself. The room didn't look like it was part of a hospital – not at all. It could've been a room of a hotel or something.

It smelled so good, and Eddie smelled so good as Waylon had noticed, timidly embracing him a few minutes ago. He smelled of cologne; Waylon could've been right since Eddie's skin was as smoothly shaved as always.

They both sat on the couch next to Eddie's bed, awkwardly saying nothing to each other. Waylon felt weird sitting next to him. He had almost forgotten how tall Eddie was.

"So … you're pretty popular, huh?" Waylon smiled carefully. Eddie shrugged his shoulders.

"They enjoy talking to me, it's nice, but a bit annoying since they always giggle and have gossip about the other women. This is not how ladies should behave. I don't know. I mean, I like talking to them, but I always hoped to talk to …" Eddie paused, fidgeting with his hands. Then he looked at Waylon firmly. "I always hoped to hear from you, and now … you're here with me."

Waylon swallowed. Seeing Eddie smile so tenderly broke his heart. "I … I wanted to talk to you and visit you earlier, but … I …" – "It's okay, Waylon," Eddie said softly. "I've seen you on television, and I've read about you in all those newspapers. Thank you for keeping the rest of our journey between you and me."

"No problem," Waylon said quietly.

"You're the popular one now," Eddie laughed. Then he got quieter. "I don't want you to visit me if you don't have time. See, I want you to be happy. Be with Lisa, care for her and your sons. She is very vulnerable right know, she needs you."

"No! No, i-it's," Waylon stuttered blushing, "I, I'll always have time for you. We're … friends, after all."

"I can't believe you still want to see me. After all I've done to you," Eddie wondered. "I hope you and your leg are alright. And I hope Lisa forgives me for torturing you. She wore a beautiful dress that one day. She's beautiful, in general. I hope you guys are alright."

"Yeah, she is, I guess," Waylon sighed. "And yeah, we're … uhm …"

Then Waylon silenced, secretly looking at Eddie sitting next to him. He had never really realized how handsome he looked in profile. Suddenly, Waylon gave up. He couldn't lie to Eddie.

"Lisa and me start drifting apart, you know," he said honestly. "She always meets her friends and sometimes she comes home early in the morning. I don't know. She squanders money like we were rich, and doesn't care about it. She also doesn't like me telling about you. And she wanted to throw the dress away –"

"You still have it?" Eddie asked in surprise.

"Of course I do," Waylon replied quickly. Eddie looked at him softly.

Then, silence. Waylon tiredly stared at the ground. He could hear him breath slowly. Sitting next to him felt so weird, just like yesterday. Waylon's heart beat feaster when Eddie moved his body closer to him.

"You look good, Eddie. Well rested," Waylon said timidly.

"I look terrible, let's be honest," Eddie replied monotonically. Waylon held his breath.

"The scars suit you well," Waylon replied quietly. No idea why, but Eddie somehow looked better having these wounds in his face. Maybe this was the Eddie Waylon knew and Waylon …

"Don't say things like this, Waylon."

"I don't care if you believe me. I think you look handsome."

Eddie glanced up and Waylon gasped as he turned red. Suddenly, he stood up as he went away from the couch. His heart was racing, and his palms didn't stop flushing.

"I … I think I better go, now," he said, ashamed, trying to avoid Eddie's gaze. He looked at him in a mixture of surprise and tenderness. God, Waylon was so pathetic. He didn't love him! What the hell was Miss Berry thinking? Eddie was a grown-up man in his forties, a man who had killed several women and with skin peelings and wounds in his face, a man he had barely spent four days with … a man. Waylon wasn't into that, and he had never been, so why did he act so idiotically and awkwardly?

"Waylon, can I ask you something?" Eddie asked while standing up. God, this man was so tall. His voice made Waylon melt. His heart started racing when Eddie started approaching him. His look was firm, and so was his voice. Waylon swallowed, trying to step back, but shorty after, he felt the cold window on his back. The storm was raging and Eddie pressed his palm on it, leaning against it, staring at Waylon.

These eyes. These were the eyes Waylon had seen in his dreams; had seen flashing in the dark, staring at him, knowing something Waylon did not. And it was this very voice he had heard making love with Lisa, leaning against the mattress, feeling her soft body under his. It were these strong hands holding his body tight, and these red, chapped lips kissing his neck.

"Why are you here, Waylon?"

He was standing in front of him, looking down to him. Waylon stared at Eddie's chest, trying not to look up. He felt so small, vulnerable, compared to the man blocking most of his view. Waylon's knees started to shake when he tried to find the right words.

"I … I, uh, wanted to see you. I felt bad for, uhm, not keeping in touch. I'm sorry for that. I, I wanted to check on you."

"Waylon," Eddie said firmly, "look at me." He grasped Waylon's chin, making him blush again. "Why are you here? Tell me the truth."

Waylon swallowed, trying to avoid Eddie's gaze again, but failing. These light-blue eyes stared at Waylon, making his heart pound, filling his body with warmth and shame at the same time. His back started sweating when he returned Eddie's gaze.

Suddenly, he saw Lisa, amusing herself with her friends, changing, yelling at him because he couldn't forget Eddie. He escaped Eddie as he sat down on the bed, bursting into tears. Shorty after, he felt Eddie putting his strong arm around Waylon and his hand caressing his shoulder. Oh god, this was so embarrassing.

"I'm sorry, I … I, I c-can't …" Waylon stuttered, wiping his tears from his face.

"Shhh, don't cry, it's okay," Eddie said tenderly, and his smooth voice remembered Waylon of himself comforting Eddie back then.

Then Waylon looked up and looked into Eddie's face, and without thinking, he pushed him on the bed as he cupped his cheeks and kissed him passionately. Tears were running down his jaw when he tried to withstand Eddie's attempts of pushing Waylon away.

"I missed you so much," Waylon cried, brushing his fingers through Eddie's hair as he pressed his lips on his. They were warm and soft, and less chapped. They felt so good. A warm shiver traveled to Waylon's stomach when he felt Eddie's hot breath on his lips.

"I … I, I l-love y-" Waylon stuttered as Eddie sat up straight, putting Waylon on his lap. He instantly wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck, starting to cry again. "E-everything's broken, Lisa and I … I-I can't look at L-Lisa anymore without p-picturing you, I … Eddie, I … I."

Waylon wanted to think straight, but he wasn't able to. God, what did he do right now? Eddie had only loved him because his delusion. He wasn't gay, he was a heterosexual who had been searching for the perfect wife. Waylon was so pathetic for falling in love with him, with a murderer. How could this happen to him? How on earth had Eddie managed to enchant him?

"I knew you would return," Eddie whispered, holding Waylon tight. Waylon sighed silently when he finally felt Eddie's hands grabbing his waist. God, he had missed that. What was wrong with him?

"I know you'd choose me. All we had … I know this was real, and I honestly don't care if you're a woman or not. I love you, Waylon. I've never loved anyone this much," Eddie breathed, and Waylon melted feeling Eddie's lips brushing against his neck. He shivered as Eddie slowly began to kiss it as his lips traveled to Waylon's jaw and his cheeks.

"I love you too, Eddie," Waylon smiled tiredly, exhaling deeply with pleasure when he felt Eddie's mouth close to his. Then he stroked his scarred face when he kissed him obsequiously, needy. His lips were warm and wet, and his hot tongue was swirling around his.

"We need to play catch-up on these three months, in one single night," Eddie whispered, aroused, but Waylon had already started to unbutton his vest before he had finished his sentence.

"Y-yes, we do. Ugh, Eddie, t-take me," Waylon moaned breathlessly as he got pushed on the bed by the topless man, "please make me forget everything. Just once. The fame, Lisa, our … our failed marriage."

"Oh, I'll do," Eddie smiled as he took off Waylon's shirt and wrapped his large arms around him, pressing his excitement against Waylon's crotch. "Do you feel how much I've waited for you, baby?" he groaned with arousal as he carefully bit Waylon's neck, leaning over him. Being called "baby" felt so strange, and yet so good, and this was so much better than "Darling", it was making Waylon's heart race and his groins burn. He uttered a moan as he felt Eddie's bare torso on his chest, felt him rubbing himself against Waylon. Then he reached out for the lamp and turned it off.

The sheets were rustling as Eddie shoved down Waylon's pants, then his. Then, Waylon saw Eddie impatiently taking off his underpants and Waylon slowly took off his as well, noticing his erection. He groaned as Eddie laid over him, rubbing his naked body on Waylon, taking Waylon's hips and spreading his legs before putting his excitement on Waylon's.

"Waylon, your body feels so good," Eddie groaned, kissing Waylon passionately, "so soft and warm. I … I want to fill you up. I can't wait to do to you what I've wanted to all the time. Turn around, baby."

He grabbed Waylon's back, then he turned him around, making him lay face down. Waylon's heart was pounding when he felt Eddie caress his buttocks, and he gasped when he noticed him pressing his erection against his testicles.

"So smooth," Eddie groaned, kissing Waylon's bottom, and his knees started to shake when he felt Eddie's tongue traveling over his genitals. He held his breath, trying not to moan too loud.

"So delicate," Eddie breathed and Waylon uttered a groan as he felt Eddie's tongue traveling over his buttock crack. Fuck, things were about to get serious. Waylon closed his eyes, trying not to drown in pleasure thinking about what would happen next, thinking about what Eddie would to to him.

"Finally, you're mine, Waylon," Eddie groaned as he seized his hips, pulling them closer to his erection, and Waylon grabbed the sheets, feeling dizzy and aroused at the same time.

"Hold your breath, baby," Eddie said, then Waylon felt something hard warming his buttocks, "I'll make you forget everything."


	15. All We Had

All We Had

The days went by with Waylon visiting Eddie once in a while. He couldn't do so everyday since Lisa might have gotten suspicious. But who cared – Lisa and him weren't what they had used to be – since a long time. Lisa was already well advanced in pregnancy, and she had changed completely. Everything that had happened in Mount Massive … it hadn't changed only Waylon. Back then, when Lisa had been his only motivation to survive … it felt like years now, like a movie, sometimes like a dream. After Lisa had started to ask why Waylon began to go out more often, he had tried to hush it up, saying it was a meeting or anything. Waylon didn't know if she believed him, but to be honest, he didn't really care, and Lisa seemed not to do so, too. She had made a lot of new friends, since a lot of scandal sheets still wanted to talk to her, and as Waylon guessed that she had met a man there because his name had been mentioned several times by her. But Waylon didn't remember.

One day Waylon had received a phone call from Miss Berry, telling Waylon what a huge success Eddie's treatment had gotten. "It's crazy," she had said, filled with joy, "since you started to visit him, he's a different person! He starts to talk and joke and stuff, and ohmygod, he began making dresses for the female patients, two are already done! They look so pretty, Mr. Park! I must admit that I already lined up, too. Everybody loves him and his creations – and did you know that he can play the piano?! I know you're busy and everything, but since your last visit a week ago he's just … I don't know, come and visit! You won't be disappointed!"

She was right, that sounded great to Waylon, though he couldn't quite believe it. He was so happy for Eddie starting to feel better, and right now there was no one Waylon thought about more. While his relationship with him reached new highs, the one of Lisa and Waylon started to break. She had stopped insisting having sex, and Waylon – who often came back from Eddie, dizzy and with shaking knees, still overwhelmed by the newest development of their relationship – of course didn't ask for it, too. Strangely enough Lisa hadn't mentioned Eddie anymore. Apparently, Waylon going out and coming back with messy hair, glowing cheeks and hickeys didn't bother her at all. In fact, she seemed to care less. She cared less until this one fight a good week after Waylon visiting Eddie for the first time.

"I don't give a shit about what you want. I'm gonna throw this away, it's making me sick!" Lisa yelled, throwing the wedding dress on the ground.

"Get your shit together, Lisa. Why shall I throw it away?"

"What did you do back then? You told me you visited his parent's house, making him realize what had happened. But what did you do before arriving there?"

Waylon blushed, thinking about all the things they had done. The proposal, the promises, the kisses … In all those months Lisa had never dared to talk about that topic, but it seemed to be a question she had been eager to ask.

"As I said, he once beat me up. Oh, and he almost killed the cashier of the gas station," Waylon snarled.

"Well, looks like you survived very well," she said in a weird tone. Waylon asked her what she meant by that. There was a strange look on her face answering his question.

"There was a hickey on your neck, Waylon," she said, inhaling deeply, "and don't give me that look: I know it was a hickey, it wasn't a bruise."

Waylon stared at her firmly. His palms started to sweat – did she really …? Did she know it?

"Well, of course there was a hickey, he thought I was his fucking wife, you know?"

Lisa laughed tiredly, resting her head in her hands. She looked exhausted. Why did she start an argument like that? The hormones, probably.

"Why do you still keep the …"

"The dress? This debate again? Really?" Waylon yelled, slowly approaching her.

"No. The ring."

Waylon froze. She did know about the engagement ring. Waylon held his breath.

"This man," Lisa said and tears started to run down her cheeks, "he … he has changed you. This whole asylum has changed you. This is not the Waylon I fell in love with. I … I can't believe you did all of that to me."

"What are you talking about?" Waylon yelled before throwing the mug on the ground. "Do you have a fucking clue what I've been through? He chased me through the whole fucking block, okay? I almost died, like, a thousand times in this fucking asylum! Then he wanted to chop my testicles off, you know that? I never told you that. I had to play along, otherwise he would've killed me, Lisa. Do you understand? I had to fucking play along the whole time. No, you don't understand. Of course not. Of course it's easier to judge."

"No, Waylon," Lisa suddenly said and there was something in her voice that made Waylon shiver, "I've seen him three months ago when I picked you up. The way he looked at you … he wouldn't have killed you, Waylon. He loves you too much. Just as I. A weird thought."

Waylon held his breath as he felt his cheeks blush. Of course he would've killed him … right?! He once chased him through the sunflower field and after catching him he beat the shit out of him … before bursting out in tears. Waylon gasped, realizing that Lisa was right: After Eddie had rescued him from Trager, Walker and Manera, he … would've he killed Waylon?

"He changed you," Lisa said while hot tears were running down her face. "He destroyed us, and you let him do so. He's insane, Waylon. Wake up. This is nothing to be toyed about. This isn't charming at all, and ... and this is no movie or whatever. This is reality. He killed people and he wanted to kill you, and he didn't change, believe me."

"He's cured," Waylon said firmly. Lisa crying didn't affect him at all by now.

"He may be sane right now, but who knows if, I mean … I know you visit him. It's okay, please, spare me this look. I won't stop you. Everything's broken, don't you think so, too? I somehow wished you never published these files. Everything got out of control." Lisa took a big breath, "Well, maybe you're right. Perhaps a bit too old, but ... he's really tall and muscular, and he has nice eyes and he is charming, I guess? So I somehow understand why you fell in love with him."

"I, I didn't …" Waylon insisted to say, but instead he paused. Lisa was just too clever. He felt the lump in his throat before starting to cry as well.

"It's okay, don't cry, Way. It's my fault, I should've noticed earlier. You keeping the ring and the dress, speaking about him all the time, not being erected when making love to me … It's okay, let's face it. This look on your face thinking about him. It's pure torture, but it's okay. Maybe … maybe everything happened too fast. Marrying after three months, then moving together, getting twins …"

"I … I'm sorry, Lisa," Waylon said, collapsing on the ground. He gasped, trying not to cry out. "I'm ... I'm so sorry. I didn't want anything of this to happen, trust me. I ... I don't know what to say."

Lisa nodded as she smiled tiredly, before walking out of the room.

"I'm so sorry, Lisa."

It was a cool and yet dry day when Waylon decided to visit Eddie again. The cold wind was blowing in his face, healing the wounds of the recent events and … conversations. After Lisa had decided to move out for a while and live with her sister, she had kissed him on the cheek, then she had left. A few minutes had passed and Waylon had started the car, on his way to visit Eddie. While driving through the fresh snow he thought back over all the things which had happened. Though he felt the urge to cry, he couldn't. Was he too happy? Probably not. But he wasn't sad either. He was … emotionless. Who would've thought of Lisa and him ending up this way? He was about to be a father. There were obligations. He needed to decide between Lisa and Eddie – these two little boys needed his full attention. Or his full abstinence. Lisa and Eddie couldn't exist in Waylon's life at the same time.

Again, a dry throat, but no tears left. Waylon sighed. Did he have to follow his heart? Or his, more or less, sane mind? Never in his life had Waylon felt something so intense like being with Eddie Gluskin. Was he gay? Probably. But why? Was it the journey, surviving Mount Massive, that had forged a bond between them? Had made Waylon fall in love with Eddie? He didn't know. The only thing he knew were these blue eyes staring at him in the night, and this tall man holding him like he was a little girl. So weird, and yet so loving … tender.

When Waylon entered the asylum, all he saw was a crowd of young women surrounding another woman standing on a table. Next to her was Eddie, gathering up her dress. It was black, there were little pearls all over it. It looked really cute; a bit like Lisa's one.

"You're so skilled, Eddie," she said, caressing his arm while he smiled, holding the needles in his mouth, "this is so pretty. I can't believe you're not a tailor!"

"Oh, please, that's like shooting fish in a barrel. And ... we're done," Eddie said after using the last needle, "you're right, this length suits you much better. I'll fix that for you, give me a few hours."

"Of course, Eddie, I have so much to do so don't you hurry," the woman said; she looked like she had a crush on him. But then again, everybody seemed to have a crush on him, judging by the way the women had surrounded him.

"Well, a woman's work is never done," Eddie smiled, winking at her. She blushed. Waylon hesitated for a second – hadn't he already heard Eddie saying that once? ... But when?

"Alright, Maddie, I'll bring it later to your …"

Then their eyes met, again. Eddie smiled widely.

"Isn't he adorable? Such a skilled, handsome man," the woman called Maddie raved, "I'm so jealous of his girl. She must be a pearl." They were standing next to the exit, since Eddie had wanted to get his coat for a stroll in the snow.

"Of his girl?" Waylon asked before realizing that, of course, nobody knew about their current relationship. "Yeah, he really is precious."

"Sorry for making you wait, darling," Eddie said and Maddie blushed, saying that he needed to stop apologizing, but Eddie only cared for Waylon.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, I am," Waylon said before exiting the asylum.

The air was cold and after a few minutes of walking, Waylon already started to freeze. After Eddie altruistically had given him his scarf, he was feeling fine as he carefully grabbed Eddie's hand. His gloves were soft and warm, and for this very moment, everything was … quite alright.

"Such a nice day," Waylon said, smelling the cologne on Eddie's scarf, "let's walk down there."

"Good idea," Eddie said, holding Waylon's hand, "there's a small park in the forest, we can go there. Maybe we manage to see the sunbeams of the sunset shining through the trees, this is just beautiful. But not as beautiful as you."

Waylon blushed, smiling stupidly. Eddie knew how to make compliments. He got quieter. Looked like he had already sort of decided which path he wanted to follow … being with Eddie made Waylon feel complete. Loved, desired. Now that everything was over, Eddie thinking Waylon was a woman and trying to castrate him, and Lisa and Waylon lying to each other, destroying their relationship … What about a fresh start?

"I love you, Eddie," Waylon said as he stopped and kissed him, feeling his cold lips on his. Snow gently started to fall.

"I love you, too," Eddie smiled while brushing his fingers through Waylon's hair, "it's so sad that we can't talk that loudly. They hear everything, you know."

"Uh, yeah," Waylon said, wondering at Eddie's expression. "So let's go, let's hide in the forest and make out!" Both men laughed while ambling along the wood.

"Look, we're lucky!" Eddie said as he ran to the little park which was illuminated by the orange sunbeams. Eddie standing in the sparkling snow, wearing his snow covered coat, grinning at Waylon was perfection. Waylon looked at him tenderly. There he was, this loving, insane, beautiful, scarred man, melting his heart.

"You were right, Eddie," Waylon said, walking through the snow while approaching him, "it is beautiful."

"It seems like a dream now, being here with you," Eddie said, standing next to Waylon while caressing his hair, facing the sunset. Waylon looked at the snow shining orange; this sentence, it felt familiar ... as well.

"I know," Waylon smiled, "crazy, isn't it? Who'd have guessed both of us ending up like this one day?"

"I know, right? … They're all so nice and caring, and I'd love to show everyone how much we love each other, but you know, we have to be careful. Their ears are everywhere. But not up here."

"Uhm, it'll be alright. Don't you worry. They'll accept it," Waylon carefully said, surprised at Eddie being so paranoid. But well, he was very conservative, Waylon already knew that.

"I'm so glad you're feeling better now, darling. I was worried-sick about your leg, you know," Eddie said and Waylon looked at him in surprise. Darling – he hadn't called him that in a long time. Hearing it felt good and strange at the same time.

"Yeah, I'm fine, it's okay," Waylon smiled never the less, watching the sun going down and making the frozen branches sparkle.

"I knew you would come back to me, darling," Eddie said and Waylon noticed him opening his coat, "healed and well rested. There won't be any problems."

"Eddie? What are you talking about?" Waylon said, feeling his heart racing. "Why do you call me darling again?"

"Huh?" Eddie looked at him; his blue eyes were sparkling. Then he smiled softly as he let his hands glide into his coat. "Isn't a man allowed to call a woman his darling? I know, I know, you're not an honest woman. Not yet. … The incision will hurt. And the conception. And birthing is never easy."

Then he took out his knife.

"I'll make the cut fast. Just close your eyes and think of our children," Eddie smiled, looking into Waylon's face, which was frozen in terror.

The sun had almost set. A few snowflakes were falling on Waylon's hair, melting on his face.

"Darling, we will be beautiful."


End file.
